


The Dragons of Skyfall

by SiderealMessenger



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragon Riders, Dragons, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-14 05:39:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10530045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiderealMessenger/pseuds/SiderealMessenger
Summary: In the kingdom of Albion, the monarch has for centuries depended on a cadre of highly skilled knights to defend the realm against its gravest threats. Few in the kingdom are aware that these knights also act in direct service to the monarch in delicate international matters where the monarch's finger cannot be seen to tip the scales. Sir James Bond is the best of Queen Anonyma's knights of the realm. He is also the bane of his Queen's existence, often entangling Albion in more political trouble than he was ordered to get it out of. Bond is generally of the opinion that life is no fun without a little trouble.Just weeks after Queen Anonyma's coronation, Sir James Bond and Sir Alec Trevelyan are ordered to investigate sightings of a great, grey dragon near a village in the south. They find the dragon, and with it, a young man who can no longer remember the name he once had. He seems to have at his command a strange clan of ten dragons, each of a different species, but all of them equally deadly. He also seems entirely uninterested in the affairs of the kingdom, and of humans in general. But the Queen sees an opportunity in him and his dragons. Bond, on the other hand, thinks dragons are more trouble than they're worth.





	1. The Great, Grey Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I've taken Albion, a historical name for Britain, as the name for the fictional kingdom in which this is set. The kingdom of Albion is meant to resemble medieval Britain in some ways, but it is not a historical parallel.
> 
> This fic is based on a post I made a little while ago that includes sketches of all of the dragons. Some of the info is no longer accurate, but you can see it here: http://urban-sorcerer.tumblr.com/post/148221843967
> 
> I also made a playlist for this fic, which you can listen to here: https://8tracks.com/tempest27/let-the-sky-fall

Legend has it that the dragons came to Quatre Coronae from the Dawnlands, to the east, and that someday, they will return. Skyfall’s resident dragon keeper and quartermaster, the man known only as Q, hopes he will never live to see that day. For Sir James Bond, knight of the realm and (as of very recently) dragon rider in service to the Queen of Albion, that day could not come soon enough. 

~ ◊ ~

All of this dragon business had begun just three weeks after Queen Anonyma’s coronation. She had taken the name Anonyma for her reign because she had left her own name behind her long ago. Before she became the Queen of Albion, she had commanded the Order of the Lion, knights of the realm whose official charter, which was nearly a thousand years old, declared their formation for the purposes of defending the kingdom of Albion and its monarch. They were formed during the War of the Saints, one of the darkest times in the recorded history of Quatre Coronae, when no kingdom’s army could be trusted, nor, necessarily, its people. Some archivists have found vague references to a fifth kingdom that existed before the war, but none of its records survived, and its ruins have never been found. The chaos and treachery of the war necessitated the formation of small, elite cadres of knights whose loyalty could be tested and guaranteed. Each of the four kingdoms founded such an order, but Albion’s was the first. At the same time that the great King Algernon drafted the Order’s official charter, he also made a secret covenant with his knights, that they would serve him in the shadows as well as the light, working to gather intelligence on foreign sovereigns, thwart political plots, and ensure that the crown of Albion would never topple. They have continued to fulfil both of the missions given to them during the war, and over the centuries it became customary for the heir apparent to command them. After all, there was no better training for politics than espionage. The Order’s numbers have dwindled in peacetime, but peace is relative in Quatre Coronae. The four kingdoms have given the appearance of peace for decades, and yet dangerous political games are played behind velvet curtains. Bond takes some comfort from that fact that, at least, he will never be out of a job.

When King Ulrich died in his sleep, the throne had passed to his niece, the princess, his closest living relative. The coronation ceremony was grand and dull, as such things usually were in Bond’s opinion. Especially since, more often than not, he and the rest of the Order had to stand behind the monarch in full armour for hours on end as symbols of the kingdom’s might. Still, he would miss her. Her command had been the only one he and all but one of the knights had ever known. She had a mind as sharp as a blade, with a tongue to match. She gave no quarter, and yet she knew exactly when a strategic retreat would gain them ground in the long run. She had named Lord Mallory, her most trusted advisor, as her successor to the throne, since she, like her uncle, had no heirs. That meant that Mallory would act as their new commander until he succeeded to the throne. He was a perfectly capable man who knew well how to play the game, but Bond had a feeling that his new queen was the kind of person who only came around once in a lifetime. At least Albion would be in good hands.  

The kingdom had been remarkably quiet after the coronation. Bond supposed a lull in nefarious political activity was to be expected following the coronation of a new monarch. There was an adjustment period of sorts, as the other monarchs were attempting to determine how she would play her cards, and as her people were deciding whether they adored her or despised her. Knowing her, she would give very little away. 

Of course it would be a bloody dragon that disrupted Bond's peace. No respect for delicate political circumstances, dragons. _Rather like you_ , he imagined his old commander telling him. Dragon sightings were rare these days. There were plenty of dragons still about, if one were stupid enough to go looking, but they had learnt long ago that terrorising villages was a good way to get themselves killed, and apparently humans weren't tasty enough to take the risk. 

"The dragon was sighted flying toward the foothills just outside of Elkhorn Village, to the south," Mallory informed Bond and Sir Alec Trevelyan, who was to be investigating the dragon sighting with him. If it had made a nest for itself too near the village, they would need to kill it, or drive it off. Neither was an easy task. Yet there was no one Bond trusted at his side more than Alec. Their previous commander-turned-queen had hesitated to put them on assignments together, since whatever mischief each of them got up to alone was nothing in comparison to the chaos they tended to cause when they were together, but she could never deny that they got results. Either she had neglected to inform Mallory of the hazards of pairing them up, which was unlikely, or he had decided that Bond and Alec could bring as much chaos down upon this dragon as they could muster. "If the villagers are to be believed, the beast was twice the size of any other dragon seen in the area for nearly thirty years."

"Hang on," Alec said, "wasn't Elkhorn the village that was nearly destroyed by a dragon almost thirty years ago?"

"Yes," Mallory replied. "They still tell stories there of the night the great, grey dragon attacked. The reports that have been coming in of the sighting yesterday suggest that it may be the same dragon."

"Lovely," Alec said. He turned to smirk at Bond. "I've always wanted to slay a legendary dragon, haven't you?" Bond scowled. He hated dragons. Alec knew he hated dragons. Bastard. 

Mallory handed Alec a scroll of parchment tied with a leather thong. "Our scout has marked the general area on this map where the dragon was last seen before it disappeared. See Tanner for your equipment, and then ride out immediately. I imagine it will be best to arrive before nightfall." 

"Yes, my Lord," they answered in unison. Mallory sighed. Somehow, the honorific always sounded sarcastic coming from the pair of them. 

Bill Tanner, the Order's blacksmith and armourer, gave them each a lance and a crossbow along with their personal swords and shields, while his apprentice helped them with their armour. Bond always liked his polished to a shine, but Alec shooed the young apprentice away when he tried to polish Alec's breastplate. As they rode out of the stables under the late morning sun, Bond on his fearless white charger and Alec on his honey-coloured stallion, Alec called to Bond, "Maybe you'll blind the dragon, being that shiny!" 

"I'll blind you and blame it on the dragon," Bond threatened.

"What, and deprive me of the sight of your pretty face for the rest of my life? A tragedy, I say!"

With his helmet on, Alec wouldn't be able to see him roll his eyes, but he did it anyway. They rode on at a brisk canter so as not to tire their horses too soon. Elkhorn Village was nearly twenty miles south of Altair, Albion's capital where the Order was based. It was just under half a day's ride, and Bond didn't envy his horse's task of carrying his sorry arse plus about fifty pounds of armour, weaponry and supplies halfway across the kingdom and back on a regular basis. The creature's loyalty was a constant source of surprise, and he found its steadfast companionship humbling when most people tended to bow and scrape before him upon seeing the snarling lion's head on his breastplate. He supposed he could say the same things of Alec, he thought with a smirk. He guessed Alec wouldn't find being compared to Bond's horse quite as flattering as Bond might intend it to be. 

They reached the outskirts of the village in the early afternoon, and slowed their horses to a walk. A young boy, who had been playing in the fields, dropped his makeshift stick-sword when he saw them and took off running down the main road, yelling “The Lions’re ‘ere!” to the village at large. In his wake, heads poked curiously out of a number of windows and doorways, while others were quickly pulled shut. 

“It’s been awhile since we’ve had a decent herald,” Alec remarked as they made their way by unspoken agreement to the tavern. Taverns were always good places for gathering local information, and besides, Bond fancied a good stiff drink before an afternoon of dragon slaying. 

“Perhaps we ought to recommend him to some of our friends in Altair,” Bond replied, dismounting and hitching his horse outside the Hunter’s Bow Tavern. Alec followed suit, and together, they went inside, helmets tucked under one arm. Like most other small, village taverns they had encountered, the place seemed barely held together by love, labour and shoddy carpentry. The windows only allowed a dim trickle of dusty light through their warped panes, and the furnishings were sparse and rickety, but a warm fire crackled in the hearth, and the bar looked relatively well stocked. There weren’t many people in the tavern at this time of day, but all eyes fell upon them as they made their way up to the bar. 

A middle-aged woman with a face that resembled leather more than skin sized them up from behind the bar. “You gentlemen planning on orderin’ anythin’, or are you just here about the dragon?” she asked.  

“Both, ideally,” Alec replied good-naturedly. Of the two of them, he usually took on the task of liaising with the peasants. Bond often didn’t quite know how to speak to them, and Alec had the advantage of being a natural people person, which Bond distinctly wasn’t. He was happy to let Alec do most of the talking. 

“Alright, what’ll ya have?” the woman asked, still eyeing them warily. 

“Two hot meals and two ales, and some feed for our horses, if you please,” Alec said, giving her one of his charming smiles. 

“Two cuts!” the woman yelled through the doorway behind her into the tavern’s small kitchen. 

“I heard ‘em, Arga!” a man called back from the kitchen. 

The woman just grunted and began filling two mugs with ale from a barrel resting on a ledge behind her.  “That’ll be four coppers,” she said, handing them their drinks.

Alec fished a gold corvin from his coin purse and slid it across the bar. “That ought to cover the information as well, hm?” 

The woman eyed the coin hungrily before snatching it up and tucking it into her bodice. “Whadd’ya want to know?” she asked, trying out a smile that could have used a little more practice. 

Bond and Alec made themselves as comfortable as possible on the rickety stools in front of the bar. “Your husband?” Alec asked, gesturing to the kitchen behind the barmaid. 

Mercifully, her smile dropped as she pursed her lips. “Aye." 

“So he does the cooking and you do the bookkeeping?” Alec asked, amused. 

“What of it? I can’t cook worth a rat’s tail, and he couldn’t count his own fingers. Each of us does what we’re good at.” 

“Sounds like you’re perfect for each other,” Alec said. 

“We get by."

“Well now, about this dragon,” Alec said, pausing to take a sip of ale. Bond knew his friend’s tells well enough to know just what he thought of the establishment’s ale, but Alec merely smiled and continued, “We’ve heard some people here think it’s the same dragon that attacked this village about thirty years ago. Do you think so, too?”

“I didn’t see it this time, and I never got a good look at it last time, either,” the barmaid replied. “There was just…flames, that night. Everywhere, flames.” Her gaze shifted slightly, to fix on a spot just over Alec’s shoulder.  

“It was a fire-breather, then,” Alec said.

“Aye. More than half the village burned to the ground,” she said softly. “This place was one of the only buildings left standing, barely a singe on it. But the beast turned the crops to ash. Most of us barely made it through that winter. Some of us didn’t.” 

“I’m sorry,” Alec said. "Did Lord Kivrik not lend you grain?"

The woman shook her head. “It was a dry year. And besides, we brought it on ourselves.”

“How do you mean?” Alec asked. 

The woman pointed up above her, at a long hunting bow hung above the bar. “The man who owned that was the best hunter this side of the kingdom. There wasn’t no game he couldn’t bag. We named this place after him, the day he dragged a young dragon into the village behind a pair of horses. Shot it through the throat and jaw, he had. He hadn’t even told anyone he was goin’ out huntin’ a dragon. The village had a celebration for him, but he didn’t stay long. He took the dragon home and that was the last we saw of him. That night, the big dragon came. The little one he’d killed had grey scales, and I know people who swear the big one did, too. It burned the fields first, so we couldn’t get out of the village, and then it started burning and tearing down houses, like it was looking for somethin’. His house was the last to burn. There was nothing left of it when that dragon was through with it. He had a family, y’know. A wife and a little boy. There was nothin’ left of them, either.”

The entire tavern was silent after the barmaid had finished speaking, the other patrons obviously having abandoned their own conversations in favour of listening in on theirs. Finally, Alec asked, “So the dragon was avenging the death of its child?” 

“Why else would it have done all that?” she said. “I’ve got a little one of my own. He may be a right brat, but I’d raze a village for him if anything ever happened to him.” 

A man came out of the kitchen bearing two steaming plates of roast pig and leeks, and Bond and Alec accepted them gratefully, hungry from their morning of travel. “I don’t doubt it,” Alec said, at least remembering to swallow his monstrous bite of food before speaking. “Who saw the dragon this time?”

“I saw it,” a young man offered hesitantly, standing from his table by the door and crossing the floor to stand beside them. “I was only a boy when it came the first time, but I’ll never forget what it looked like. My father saw it too, while we were out harvesting our crops. It was the same dragon.”

“But it didn’t attack this time,” Alec said. 

“No. It was far off, nearly over the mountains,” the man said. “It didn’t seem to give the village a second thought.”

“Strange,” Alec said. Bond was inclined to agree. Vengeful or not, dragons that attacked villages tended to keep attacking them until they were stopped. A dragon’s temper was something that only cooled over decades, perhaps even centuries. That this one had seemingly settled for one night of fire and bloodshed and then made itself scarce was unusual to say the least. “Thank you all for assisting us, and for your hospitality. Whatever the case may be, we’ll do our best to find this dragon and make certain it never brings harm to this village again,” Alec promised.

“Good luck,” the young man said earnestly. The barmaid grunted in agreement. Bond and Alec finished their meals quickly, and left the tavern. They looked over the map they had been given once more, then mounted their horses and rode off toward the mountains, behind which the sun was hovering threateningly, beginning its descent. 

~ ◊ ~

"Have I mentioned how much I love the outdoors?" Alec grunted, hacking away at dense underbrush to clear a path for the horses. Bond sat atop his charger watching on, unsympathetic to his friend's plight. Alec still owed him a great deal of favours for getting them thrown out of the inn they were supposed to lie low at during their last assignment in the kingdom of Hellespar. All because Alec couldn't keep his hands off the innkeeper's wife. To be fair, she couldn't keep her hands off of him, either, and he did learn a couple of useful things from her about the Hellesparian diplomat staying in the room below theirs. But they had had to beat a hasty retreat back to Albion after they had gathered enough intelligence on the diplomat's personal indiscretions to provide the King with bargaining chips in the upcoming trade negotiations should he require them. In fact, they probably oughtnot to show their faces in the town of Navir any time in the next ten years. 

"You have. Five times, in the last two hours," Bond replied. 

"Well, I'll say it again," Alec snarled, giving the bramble patch a particularly vicious slash with his sword. "I— AGH, FUCK!" 

Out of the bramble patch flew a dark creature the size of a large cat, shrieking like the damned and claws outstretched toward Alec’s face. With one swift jab, he impaled the creature on his sword, and after a short, guttural squawk, silence reigned. In a mess of feathers at Alec’s feet lay a large, black bird with a sharp, pale beak. Dark blood dribbled from its nostrils into the dirt. 

“The dragon is vanquished,” Bond remarked as Alec caught his breath.  

Alec glared down at the carcass. “Bloody bonebeaks.”

“They’re carrion eaters,” Bond said. “We’re probably close.” He slid down from his horse and helped Alec clear away the remaining brambles from their path. After no more than five minutes of riding, they came upon a rocky clearing, with imposing crags rising all around its perimeter, and the pitch black maw of a cave set deep into the mountain gaping at them from the far end. Bones of large animals and a few humans lay scattered about the rocks, a small flock of bonebeaks industriously picking them clean. Off to the left at the edge of the clearing, so large and so well camouflaged amidst the surrounding stone that Bond’s eyes skipped over it the first time, lay their dragon, eyes closed and apparently asleep. Its deep breaths, Bond had initially mistaken for the sound of the wind rasping over the rocks.  

Quietly, the two of them dismounted, slung their crossbows over their backs, and took up their lances and shields. “I don’t like being on the sparky end of it,” Alec whispered. “Let’s go around.” Bond nodded his agreement and they slowly made their way around the edge of the clearing, being careful not to disturb any rocks or bones. Soon, they stood about five yards away from its haunches, each of them behind the cover of large boulders on either side of the beast. Bond raised his hand to signal Alec to wait for his command. If they were lucky, it would flee after being wounded, and they would collapse the cave using black powder to deter its return. But it was just as likely to turn and fight, and they had to be on top of their guard. Alec readied his crossbow, and Bond drew back his lance. 

“Step away from the dragon, please.” Both knights started at the voice from behind them and turned toward its source. Standing atop a low outcropping under the tree line was a young man with dark, curly hair clad in black, scaly leathers. He had a knife made of some sort of jaw bone strapped to his hip, and a long hunter’s bow in his grip, an arrow drawn back and aimed at Bond, who stood closest to him. “I won’t repeat myself, and I won’t miss. My father was the greatest hunter in the south, and I surpassed him in skill long ago.” 

“Your father…” Bond began, incredulously, but tensed when he heard the sound of scales scraping across stone behind him. He and Alec turned in time to see the dragon stir and lift its head to look for the cause of the commotion. When it saw them its green eyes narrowed, and it bared its impressive fangs in a snarl, a low hiss emanating from its throat. They were close enough to feel the heat radiating from its jaws, and Alec took aim with his crossbow. 

“Lower your weapons!” the stranger barked. Then, in a gentler tone, “It’s alright, Greywing, I’ll handle this.”

Astonishingly, the dragon’s hiss died down, and it drew back, its intense gaze still fixed on the pair of knights, but otherwise making no move to attack. “That thing answers to you?” Alec demanded, though he lowered his crossbow a fraction. “What’s going on here?”

“I was going to ask you the same question,” the man said. “Who are you and how did you find this place?” 

Bond was surprised the man didn’t recognise the emblem on their breastplates. “We’re knights of Her Majesty’s Order of the Lion,” Alec said, “and we’re here because your dragon was sighted near the village it all but burnt to the ground thirty years ago.”

“What?” The man seemed taken aback, and he turned to address the dragon once more. “I told you to stay away from the village!” The dragon growled softly in response, and held its head a little higher. 

“Who are you?” Bond asked, staring at the man down the length of the arrow still aimed at his head. 

“I don’t have a name,” the man replied. “But you’re intruding in our home, and we would very much appreciate it if you left. Now.”

“I’m afraid we can’t allow that dragon to stay here,” Bond said. “And you’ll have to come and speak to the Queen about all of this.”

“The Queen?" the man scoffed. "Does this queen happen to have the same attitude toward dragons as her predecessor? Because somehow I doubt the kingdom’s grown more enlightened in recent years.” 

“To be honest? I'm not sure,” Bond said. “She’s only just ascended to the throne. But we will take you into custody and bring you before her ourselves, if we have to.”

The man laughed, lowering his bow in the process. “Oh, really?” he said. “You and what army, exactly?”

There was another low growl from behind them, but this time it was joined by another, and another, and then a hiss and a snarl. “Er, James,” Alec said, looking over his shoulder, “there’s more of them.”

Bond turned slowly to see several dragons of different colours and sizes emerging from the cave, and still others climbing over the rocks or out of the forest behind them. Some were long and slender, others were stout and heavily armoured, some had feathers and others had scales, but all of them could snap up a knight and still be hungry for supper. Bond's grip tightened instinctively on his lance, but he forced himself to keep it pointed at the ground. If they provoked one of the dragons now, they would be as good as dead. He and Alec stood frozen to the spot as ten pairs of large, slitted eyes watched them hungrily. 

“The Queen can offer you protection!” Bond blurted out. “For you and your dragons.” 

“And what makes you think we need her protection?” the man asked, sounding more and more amused.  

“You call this place your home, and you live here with these beasts, is that right? Well, what if you hadn’t been here when we arrived? What if you’d been too late to save the grey dragon? What if we'd collapsed that cave with the other dragons inside?” He seemed to have the man’s full attention now, and he noticed for the first time how the man’s eyes glinted an unnatural green in the dying light. 

"Many have tried to kill these dragons," the man said.

“I'm sure they have," Bond replied. "It must be difficult keeping all of these dragons hidden from the world. It will only be a matter of time before more like us come for them. Even if you kill us to keep your secret, more from our Order will follow, and when they figure out what happened it will be as good as a declaration of war against the kingdom. But if you're not an enemy, and you beg Her Majesty’s protection, you would have the Order as well as the entire Royal Army on your side. No one would dare come after you and your dragons, then.”

“And why would  _Her Majesty_  offer us such protection?” the man asked.  

“It’s just a hunch,” Bond said, “but you may have something that she’d want.”

The man narrowed his eyes in suspicion, an expression that mirrored the grey dragon’s to an eerie degree. “Very well,” he said finally. “I’ll hear what your queen has to say. Get back on your horses and I’ll follow you.” 

Bemused, but not having much choice in the matter, Bond and Alec made their way cautiously back to where they had hitched their horses at the edge of the clearing. Both mounts were snorting and pawing at the ground nervously. "How exactly do we know he's not an enemy?" Alec whispered harshly. 

"I was just saying whatever would get us out of here alive," Bond admitted under his breath. "But think about it. A whole clan of dragons at his command, and we've heard nothing of it 'til now? The perfect opportunity to destabilise the kingdom would have been the coronation, but he didn't even know we had a new monarch. He didn't recognise the Order's insignia. I think he's been living out here for a long time, just trying to avoid notice. He's scared." 

"I hope you're right," Alec muttered, "because we're risking an awful lot on your theory."

Reaching a hand out to calm his charger, Bond turned back to see the man jump down from the ledge and approach the throng of dragons. “If we’re not back by sunset tomorrow, leave this place,” he told them. A few of them hissed softly, but they seemed inclined to obey. He turned to face the large grey dragon once more, and it crouched low to the ground, allowing him to step up on its foreleg and swing a leg over its back. After he’d hooked both legs over the tops of its wings, it rose to its full height, its horns brushing the high tree branches overhead.

“You can’t come into the capital with that thing!” Alec yelled incredulously. 

“Then the Queen will just have to come out and meet me,” the man replied, and with a light kick to the dragon’s sides, it spread its enormous wings, bounded across the clearing, and launched itself into the air. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The featured sketches at the end of each chapter are early concept art. I've changed some of the info in the story, but the dragon designs are still pretty much the same. Mostly, the scaling is off. The dragons are all somewhat larger – probably ~30% larger - in relation to their riders than the scale in the sketches. Some of their breath types are different, too.


	2. A Gamble

Bond would never get used to traveling under the shadow of a dragon. The dragon, of course, flew much faster than their horses could gallop, so it spent most of the journey back to the capital soaring in lazy circles high above them. Every time its shadow passed over the horses they would whinny and shake their reins nervously. This behaviour eased somewhat when night settled over the land, but the half moon still gave off enough light to outline great, shadowy wings sweeping over the darkened hills. Bond got the feeling that this strange man was escorting them away from his “home,” as he’d called it, as much as they were escorting him to the capital. 

Staying off the main roads and away from major settlements added several hours to the return journey, but Bond could only imagine the chaos that would ensue if a local militia saw a dragon heading for their town, led by two knights of the realm, no less. He had enough to explain to the Queen already. Plus, he did not want to find out what that man and his dragon would do if they encountered hostile civilians. He was placing a lot of faith in a man he had only just met, leading him and his dragon right to the capital. Although if this stranger and his dragons had wanted to attack Altair before, it seemed they certainly could have. The fact that they had managed to keep their existence a secret for what Bond suspected had been years seemed to support the man's statement that, in not quite so many words, they just wanted to be left alone. Bond thought about the hunter from Elkhorn Village, and the bow hung in the tavern, and the burning house in which father, mother and son had supposedly perished thirty years ago. Bond thought that the stranger with jewel-green eyes that bore an eerie resemblance to his dragon's did not look much over thirty himself. 

When they reached the outer barley fields that formed a golden ring around the capital in summer, Alec rode on ahead to inform the Queen of their findings, and of the unusual guest who would be awaiting her outside the city walls. _Far_ outside the city walls, for if they got any closer, they greatly increased their chances of being seen. Bond drew his horse to a halt, and hoped that the stranger would get the message. To his surprise, the dragon began to circle downwards, and within minutes it had landed a little ways off to his left, nearly silent in the still night. Bond's charger brayed nervously at its dark, looming presence, and Bond reached a hand to rub soothingly down the horse's neck, sharing secret sympathy. His skin still prickled with unease in the creature's presence, a feeling which was not aided by the way in which the eyes of dragon and rider both reflected an unsettling green in the moonlight. The man remained seated on the dragon's back, making no move to dismount, and Bond did the same, if only out of concern that his horse would bolt otherwise.

They sat in silence for some time amidst the not-yet golden fields beneath a star-encrusted sky. Bond had complicated feelings about silence. He had had far too much of it as a boy, and far too little as a man. Since he had joined the Order, he had gratefully taken brief interludes of calm and quiet like these where he could get them. But he knew that once the Queen arrived, if she would even go along with this insanity, everything would become much bigger than it was now. She was no longer their commander, working with them in the shadows. Now, once she was involved, Albion was involved. 

So Bond broke the silence. "So you, er–" he cleared his throat, realising he had to speak a little louder to cover the distance between them – "You do live with all of those dragons?"

The man turned to look at him, eyes like a cat's in the dark. He seemed to regard Bond carefully before he spoke. "Yes," he said.  

"And you've...tamed them, somehow?"

The dragon huffed air through its nostrils, as if it had understood the question and had taken issue with it. "Dragons cannot be tamed," the man replied, as haughty as his dragon. "I thought that was common knowledge." 

"And yet here you are, sitting astride one without it trying to bite off your head," Bond replied, irritated that both dragon and rider seemed to have formed the false impression that he was an idiot. "Do you mean to tell me you've just befriended a whole clan of dragons?"

"We're not friends. We're family." 

Bond's eyebrows shot up at that. "How does that work, exactly?" 

"It's...complicated."

"I can only imagine," Bond said. "But if I'm not wrong, you once had a family of your own down in that village."

The man's eyes narrowed, reappraising. Bond hid his smile. "'Had' being the operative word," the man finally replied. "My father made a gamble, in which he lost far more than he gained. He was a man of many skills, but he was a poor gambler."

"Did this gamble of his have something to do with a young, grey dragon that he put two arrows through?" 

The dragon's head whipped around and it snarled at Bond, whose horse reared back in a fright. The dragon really did seem to understand him, Bond thought as he calmed his horse with murmured words and a soothing hand. The man seemed to do much the same with his dragon, and after a moment it quieted and turned its head away, looking resolutely out over the fields. "Listen, knight," the man said shortly, "I know you and your friend were just doing your jobs, checking up on a dragon sighting, and I'm sorry I threatened you, but that does not mean that I trust you, and I swear to all the gods that if you, your order or your queen mean us any harm, I will not give you the fair warning of a threat."

Bond might have balked at the outburst from the younger and slighter man, had he not aimed an arrow with deadly precision at Bond earlier in the day, and had there not been a fire-breathing dragon the size of a small house beneath him now. As it was, Bond took the warning seriously. This could get very interesting, depending on what action the Queen decided to take. While she'd been their commander, she'd had a live and let live attitude toward dragons, as long as they didn't pose a direct threat to any settlements. Sending men off to kill dragons without very good reason was a good way to lose men. But many things could change when one had to work with all of the eyes of the kingdom watching. 

Bond tried to sound suitably non-confrontational when he said, “My name is Bond. James Bond. And I can’t speak for Her Majesty’s intentions, but I swore an oath to protect my Queen and kingdom. As long as you and your dragons threaten neither, then I mean you no harm. But you’ll have your work cut out for you convincing the Queen and the Order that a man with ten dragons at his command isn’t an inherent threat to the kingdom.” 

The man huffed an irritated sigh. “I have no interest in this kingdom, James. The dragons and I just want to live in peace.”

“Peace is a luxury not all can afford,” Bond said. 

“You don’t need to tell me that,” the man replied. They lapsed into silence once more, having reached something of an impasse. Bond still wasn’t sure if the destructive force of a dragon – let alone ten – could ever be effectively harnessed, no matter what he had seen that day. They were creatures of chaos, plain and simple. Which made him all the more curious to know how this man managed to command them.  

The sound of approaching horses and cart wheels drew their attention, and when Bond looked down the road leading out of the city, he could make out the silhouette of a carriage accompanied by four riders. He rummaged in his saddle bag for his spyglass, and extended it to get a better look at the party coming their way. He recognised Alec first, riding beside the carriage along with three other members of the Order. They were not escorting the royal carriage, but he had suspected that the Queen would want this meeting to be as inconspicuous as possible. Collapsing the spyglass, he addressed the stranger once more. “You ought to dismount to show the Queen respect.” 

“I’ve never met her before; how could I possibly have come to respect her?” the man said. He nevertheless had his dragon crouch low to the ground so he could hop down from its back, muttering something about “strange human customs” as he did so. 

“You’ll also need to surrender all of your weapons,” Bond said.

The man placed his hands on his hips and regarded Bond with a general air of disbelief. Standing closer to Bond than he ever had before, Bond was struck by the gentleness of the man’s features. Apart from his unnerving eyes, he had a kind and youthful face, and he didn’t look particularly muscular, either. He certainly didn’t have the look of a killer, and yet— “Let me make sure I understand you,” the man said. “I’ve got a dragon with me who breathes fire, who has burnt to the ground one village that you know of, and you’re concerned about my weapons?” 

“We knights like to make things as difficult for everyone as possible,” Bond said, straight-faced. 

The man huffed a sigh that might have been a hastily-disguised laugh. He unslung his bow and quiver from his back and handed them to Bond. From his belt he removed the jawbone knife and another knife made of what looked like obsidian that Bond had failed to notice against the dark leather of his belt. Next, he unstrapped his leather gauntlets, which Bond realised were tipped with sharp, black claws from some sort of predator. From his left boot he pulled out a long, curved blade, which seemed to have been carved from a rib bone. Finally, strapped to his thigh was what looked like a dragon’s fang, which he handled gingerly and did not immediately offer up. “Careful with this one, it’s poisoned,” he warned, holding it out to Bond by the tip. Bond, whose arms were already full of weapons, hefted the bundle of weapons into one arm before accepting the fang with a gauntleted hand. 

“I think you missed one,” Bond said, when it became clear that no more bizarre weapons were forthcoming. 

“I did?” The man looked down at himself, arms spread, then looked down his back over his shoulder. “Where?” Bond raised an eyebrow. The man’s gaze turned distinctly unimpressed in response. “You’re making fun of me,” he said, crossing his arms. “Well, you just try surviving in the wilderness all your life, and then see if you’re still laughing.” 

“I wasn’t laughing,” Bond said innocently. 

“You were laughing silently,” the man said, a ridiculous pout on his face. “Stormclaw does the same thing. I may be somewhat lacking in human interaction, but I know when I’m being had.” 

“And Stormclaw is…another dragon?” Bond ventured. 

“Everyone I know is a dragon,” the man replied.

Bond didn’t know whether to find that remark funny or sad. He never quite settled on which, as at that moment the carriage trundled to a stop, and the riders spread out into a flanking formation. Alec met Bond’s eyes, and Bond nodded once. “Everything appears to be in order, Your Majesty,” Alec called.  

The coachman, dressed in royal red, hopped down from the driver's seat and pulled open the double doors on the left-hand side of the carriage, lowering the retractable steps so there was no undignified drop from the carriage floor to the ground. Then he held out his hand, and a white-gloved hand emerged from the carriage to grasp it. The gloved hand was followed by a white leather boot on the first step, and then the Queen emerged. She was the very picture of composure, despite the unorthodox venue. The only sign that things were not quite being played according to the book was her choice of a relatively simple blue gown, which resembled more what she used to wear as knight commander and less the priceless, glittering and impractical things she now had to wear as Queen. Bond recalled how on the day of her coronation she had pulled irritably at her high, lacy collar and looked despairingly over her jewel-studded train, before remarking that her dress was more sparkly than his armour. Now, as she released the arm of her carriage driver and approached them, Bond felt a fierce and familiar desire to protect her from harm. 

He spared another wary glance at the dragon behind him before he flicked his reins in just the right way to get his charger to dip into an elegant bow. He bristled when the stranger made no move to do the same. “Is there a reason you refuse to bow to me?” Queen Anonyma asked, her tone more curious than offended.

“I’m afraid I never learnt the custom, Your Majesty,” the man responded. “I was raised by dragons, and they bow to no one.”

The Queen smiled at that, just slightly. “And how is it, if I may ask, that you won over the allegiance of these dragons? As a child, no less?” she asked, her gaze turning appraisingly to the grey dragon, which eyed her watchfully in return. 

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, that is a secret I intend to take to my grave,” the man replied. “It would be dangerous for other dragons if my personal history became widely known. That is why we have lived away from humans, as unobtrusively as possible.”

“I must commend you on evading attention for so long. That is quite a remarkable feat. Leaving aside the details, then, can you assure me that these dragons obey you?”

“They obey no one,” the man replied. “I have as much say in what the clan does as any of them. They recognise me as one of their own, they respect me, and they often defer to my judgment in dealing with human affairs. But I do not pretend to be a monarch; they do not obey me.”

“I’m afraid you misapprehend the purpose of my question,” the Queen said. “I need to know whether these dragons represent an inherent danger to my kingdom, or whether it is only _your_ intentions that I need concern myself with.”

“Since joining our clan, no dragon has harmed humans who have not sought to harm us. It would have drawn too much attention. As for me, I want nothing other than the safety of my clan.” 

“I am inclined to believe that you and your dragons mean the kingdom no harm. After all, Sir Bond has more reason than most to be wary of dragons, and yet he remains by your side.” The man looked curiously back at Bond, who looked away. He had no desire to rehash his own personal history with dragons, especially not with someone who seemed to hold them in higher regard than humans. “However,” the Queen continued, “as long as you reside in this kingdom, you are my subject, and must obey the laws of the realm. You may be aware that there is one law in particular that has forbidden private armies of more than one-hundred men in Albion for nearly a thousand years. I would say that ten dragons constitute a force far greater than a hundred men, wouldn’t you?”

“Er, technically, perhaps…” the man began, clearly out of his depth when it came to legal theory. 

“Sir Trevelyan tells me that you have no name,” the Queen continued. “I have none, either. Unlike my predecessors, I prefer to leave the past behind, and look toward the future. In other words, I am willing to forget that you have broken the law, and that that dragon has destroyed a village, if you and your dragons would be willing to dedicate your service to me. I have heard disturbing rumours coming out of Pelion of late, and I am looking to provide my kingdom with an advantage. In exchange for your service, you and your dragons would be placed under my protection.” 

“Dragons are living, thinking beings, not weapons,” the man said sternly.  

“As are knights and soldiers, and I would value their lives just as highly. I would not place them in unnecessary danger, nor would I ask more of them than I would of my own knights.”

“Even putting aside the immediate dangers involved, what you are suggesting would put us in the spotlight. Something we have spent decades avoiding.”

“Young man,” said the Queen, “you are speaking with the Queen of Albion. You are already in the spotlight.”

The man frowned, considering all that had been said. “I will have to discuss your offer with the rest of the clan.”

“Of course,” the Queen said. “Only do not think of it as an offer so much as an alternative. Your other alternatives are to disband your clan, or leave the kingdom. I would not recommend Hellespar, as they have made a sport of dragon-slaying for centuries. Pelion remains rather mysterious, as always, but I don’t believe they get many dragons that far north, given the cold climate. I suppose you could try your luck in Avonthal, if your dragons could make the flight across the White Sea.”

“Thank you for the advice,” the man said flatly. 

He turned back toward his dragon and made it three steps before the Queen called out, “One more question, before you leave.” Reluctantly, he turned to face her once more. “Will your dragon tolerate another rider?” 

Puzzled, the man said, “I’m not certain. Why?” 

“I would ask that you take Sir Bond with you. His family estate at Skyfall is quite large enough to accommodate ten dragons, if I’m not mistaken, as well as being suitably remote and currently not in use. If you decide to go with my alternative, he can guide you and your dragons there, where Lord Mallory will be awaiting you to make further arrangements. If not, do please return my knight to us before you leave.”

Alarmed, Bond looked between his impassive Queen, an amused Alec and the agitated stranger. “Fine,” the man said, walking up to Bond. “My weapons, please.” Speechless, Bond returned his weapons to him one by one. When he had finished strapping the dragon’s fang to his thigh, he stepped back, gesturing for Bond to follow him. “Off your high horse, Sir Bond.” 

Bond shot one last desperate look at his Queen, who made a little shooing motion in response. Alec must have told her this had all been Bond's idea. Feeling betrayed, Bond dismounted, giving his horse one last, loving stroke down the side of its face before leading it over to Alec. As he handed Alec the reins, Alec said, “If you don’t come back, can I keep her?”

“If I do come back, you’ll regret asking,” Bond growled, and turned on his heel to march back to where the stranger was waiting for him. Which happened to be far closer to the dragon than Bond had judged. 

“Greywing,” the man said, and he immediately had the dragon’s full attention. Bond had to fight not to take a step back from the dragon’s gaze as it looked down at him. “This is James,” the man continued. “He’s…well, not a friend, exactly, but not an enemy, and that means he’s not food. He’s got to come with us, alright?” 

The dragon huffed out a breath through its nostrils and blinked, a second set of milky eyelids flickering across its emerald eyes. Bond looked to the man for an interpretation, but he seemed just as confused as Bond. “She’s…absolutely fine with it. She seems to like you for some reason.”

“What do you mean ‘for some reason’?” Bond grumbled. 

“Hold out your hand to her,” the man instructed, ignoring Bond’s remark. 

“Excuse me?” Bond said, drawing both hands to his chest protectively. He was rather attached to them.  

“She needs to learn your scent.” From the man’s tone, his patience was wearing thin. 

Remembering how he had done the same with his charger when she had first come into his care, he cautiously reached a hand out toward the dragon’s snout. Its nostrils flared, and Bond felt hot breath through the plates of his gauntlet. His hand began to tremble slightly. Finally, after agonising seconds, the dragon drew back and crouched low, waiting. “Good,” the man said, and Bond was not reassured by his surprise. He turned to Bond and cocked his head thoughtfully. “Do you knights wear anything under all that armour?” he asked.

“Excuse me?” Bond repeated himself, but with feeling.  

A hint of colour rose to the man’s cheeks as he back-pedalled. “I– I ask because your armour’s awfully shiny, and some of the dragons might take a liking to it. It would be best if you left it here.” Bond could have sworn he heard Alec snicker. It took significant effort to keep the scowl off his face as he began unbuckling his armour. The coachman hurried over to assist him and to carry his armour back to the coach, soon leaving Bond in his leather trousers, wool undershirt and belted arming doublet. He knew his armour wasn’t sufficient to protect him from a dragon, but he nonetheless felt far more vulnerable without it. “Yes, that’s much better,” the man said. “Now, step up on Greywing’s foreleg there, and swing your other leg over her back so you’re sitting between her spinal ridges.” 

Cautiously, Bond stepped up beside the dragon and placed a hand experimentally on its flank. Its scales shifted slightly under his hand in response to the contact, but it did not whip around and bite him in half, or char-broil him in a burst of flame. Steeling himself before he lost his nerve, Bond did as the man had instructed, and soon enough found himself sitting atop the dragon’s back. Before the panic had time to set in, the man had climbed deftly up to sit in front of him, hooking his legs over the dragon’s wings as he had before. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?” he asked over his shoulder. 

“No, just dragons,” Bond replied tersely. 

“Well that’s perfectly sensible. You may want to hold onto me,” he said, and with a kick to the dragon’s sides it lunged forward, and in three powerful strides its enormous wings pulled the creature up into the air. As the Queen, her knights and her carriage quickly shrunk to specks in the middle of the vast barley fields, and the famous towers of Altair began to look like little more than toothpicks, Bond’s only coherent thought was that he _really_ missed his horse. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've looked at my sketches, I've changed Stormheart's name to Stormclaw, and I'll be changing Firefeather's to Firequill and Hyperion's to Empyrean. Also, the scaling is off, in that in the story most of the dragons are larger relative to their riders than I have drawn them. However, the relative scaling is still correct, in that the larger dragons are still that much larger than the smaller dragons, etc.
> 
> Also, M doesn't use the royal 'we' except for formal occasions, because she thinks it sounds ridiculous and fussy.


	3. Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this AU, Bond's the one afraid of flying :)

Gradually, Bond managed to collect himself. At first, right around when the dragon's wingtips brushed the bottom of a dusky cloud, this newfound composure went toward giving serious thought to developing a fear of heights. But as the adrenaline that had flooded his system upon the lurching take-off subsided, and the dragon's flight rhythm evened out mostly to a glide, Bond gave the height a second thought. Cautiously, he looked out over the dragon's side. His eyes fixed first on the horizon, a seemingly infinite band where the vast sky purpling with dawn met the shadowed hills. After allowing some time for his stomach to settle, he permitted his eyes to drift further down, until he spied a village far below in the distance, its darkened structures only distinguishable from the landscape by the orange glow of a few torches still burning along the main road. If he had had the mind to let go of his companion, he could have held out his hand and encircled the whole village with his thumb and forefinger. As it was, the thought made him reflexively tighten his grip around the other man's waist. The man gave an uncomfortable cough in response, and Bond muttered an apology, making an effort to cease crushing the man's ribs. 

"It's just that the air's a bit thin up here, and I do rather like being able to breathe," the man said. Bond was surprised by the sound of his own laughter, and the man turned to look at him with concern. "You're not getting hysterical on me, are you?"

"No, I'm fine – all things considered," Bond insisted. "You make a good distraction." 

"Excuse me?" The hint of amusement in the man's voice indicated that he was intentionally echoing Bond's own words.

It was Bond's turn to back-pedal. "I meant that it's good to have someone to talk to, to take my mind off of our mode of transport." 

"The Queen mentioned that you had more reason than most to be wary of dragons. What did she mean?"

"She shouldn't have brought that up," Bond said, perhaps a bit brusquely. 

"I'm sorry," the man said. "I haven't had another person to talk to for quite some time, so I never learnt not to pry, I suppose."

Bond’s jaw twitched. He couldn't very well keep up his iron defences with someone who was being so strangely open with him in return. "My parents were killed by a frost dragon, when they were hiking in the mountains that border Skyfall. I was nine years old." 

"Oh. I am sorry," the man said, and he sounded sincere. "What did you do, after?"

"I was too young to run the estate by myself, so the caretaker sent me to live with distant relatives in the capital. I wanted to do something useful instead of parading about court as an object of pity, so as soon as I was old enough, I enlisted in the Royal Army. I rose through the ranks, distinguished myself, and soon enough one of the King's scouts recommended me for a position in the Order. I haven't been back to Skyfall since I was sent away."

"There must be painful memories there," the man said, softly enough that Bond had to lean foreword to distinguish his voice from the sound of the wind.

"Some good ones, too," Bond said. 

"I appreciate that you're going along with all of this, even if it seems you don't have much of a choice."

"It seems you don't have much of a choice, either," Bond said. 

"Ultimately it will be Greywing's choice. Where we live, it's been her home for nearly a century. Honestly, I wanted us to move farther away from the village when our numbers started to grow, but she wouldn't budge. I suppose I feel the same about my village as you do about Skyfall. Except I did go back once, a couple years ago, just for a day. Half the buildings were new, of course. And no one recognised me. I was only six when Greywing came that night, so there's no reason they should have. The stonemason whose son I used to play with asked me if I wanted to buy arrowheads, thinking I was just another hunter purchasing supplies on his way through.” He chuckled, but it was not a mirthful sound. "When I told him I hadn't any money, he gave me a little stone dragon carving. Said there was a market for them among foreigners since the attack, as tourist trinkets. I suppose he expected me to sell it. I didn't, though." 

For the first time, Bond made the conscious connection that this man's parents had been killed by a dragon, just as his had. He had known it in abstract, in the back of his mind, but he had been so focused on his own feelings toward dragons that he hadn't truly thought about it. "You've... _forgiven_ the dragon that killed your parents," he said, trying to understand.  

The man sighed, and Bond felt him tense. "Like I said, it's complicated. My father killed her child. In dragons’ terms, she was entitled to recompense."

"Then why didn't she kill you? And why are your eyes like hers?" Bond asked, refusing to take the hint and back off.

The man sounded irritated again when he said, "Like I told your queen, there are things about that night that I cannot talk about."

"And that's fine," Bond said. "You don't have to trust us, but if you decide to stay and work for the Queen, we'll have to trust you. That means we'll need to know more about you. If you start by telling me, I can act as an intermediary between you and the Order. I already have their trust, and they'll trust me to tell them what they need to know. The rest can stay between you and me."

"Is that on your word as knight?" the man asked, obviously not putting much stock in that sort of thing. 

Bond did, however, and he tried to convey as much in his answer. " _Yes._ "

“Oh, very well, let's not make this about your honour," the man said, and Bond could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "There's more I can tell you without giving away the details. My father went hunting for that dragon because of an old superstition his grandfather had told him, about a miraculous remedy involving dragon's blood and ritual magic. His family was originally from Avonthal – I doubt anyone in this kingdom has even heard of the ritual, and as far as I'm aware, it doesn't have a name. My father wasn't some valour-hungry prize hunter who finally met his match. Well, he was, but he didn’t hunt the dragon for some nobleman to be able to mount its head on his wall. He did it for me. I had always been a sickly child, but that year I fell very ill, and it became clear that I wasn’t going to survive the winter. My great-grandfather’s old legend was my parents’ last hope. My father managed to find and kill the dragon, bring it home, and perform the ritual as his grandfather had described it. The ritual involved…mingling the dragon’s blood with my own. It was excruciating. I didn’t even realise it when our house began to burn, because I already felt like I was engulfed in flames. I do remember watching my parents burn, without being able to lift a finger to protect them. And then I remember looking into Greywing’s eyes, and somehow understanding that she was in as much pain as I was. But she understood me as well. Because her child’s blood now ran through my veins, she saw me as her own. Not only as a member of dragon kind, but as all that was left of her child. So she took me with her, back to her cave, where she raised me as hers. Dragons are highly intelligent creatures. They understand much more of humans than humans do of them. She was able to teach me about both species, and over the years we came to understand each other as only family can. But I am not quite so much like the dragons that I believe vengeance to be the solution to loss. Three lives were sacrificed so that I might live. I am not so arrogant to think that I have any right to another.” 

Bond felt as much as heard the soft rumble in the dragon’s chest when the man had finished speaking. He could imagine it sounded something like sympathy. He sat contemplating the man’s story in silence for some time. It aligned with what little information he had, but it all seemed so fantastical. And yet, he could not imagine why someone would want to concoct such a tragedy. It was when he caught a glimpse of a tear rolling down the man’s cheek, before he quickly swiped it away, that Bond decided he could believe his story. At least for now. “I’m sorry as well. For what you’ve been through.” 

“It’s alright,” the man said, his voice holding only the barest hint of a tremble. “I wouldn’t wish it over again, but… I _am_ quite happy with the family I have now.”

“How do all of the other dragons fit in?” Bond asked. “They all look like different species.”

“That’s the good to come out of all of this, or at least I think so,” the man said. “Greywing and I agreed that no one – dragon or human – should go through the same things that had happened between us. So we would spend long periods of time traveling throughout the kingdom, helping other dragons. Whether they had been injured by humans or their own kind, or captured by hunters, or stolen from their nests and sold on the black market while they were still in their eggs, or, well, Salazar just had his horns stuck in a tree, but because of our intervention, the dragons we helped never felt the need to take such blind, all-encompassing revenge as Greywing had. Often, they would choose to stay with us afterward. That’s how our clan grew to what it is now.”

“So you’re not gathering a dragon army?”  

The man’s chuckle was genuine this time. “What on earth would I need a dragon army for?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, riches, power, a kingdom, all four kingdoms…” Bond droned.

“Ruling a kingdom sounds like an awful lot of trouble,” the man said around a yawn.

“You know, you and Queen Anonyma might just get on,” Bond said. Just then, Greywing banked sharply to begin her descent around the back side of the mountains, out of sight of the village, and Bond once again tried his hardest not to squeeze the life out of the man he could no longer properly think of as a stranger.

Luckily, the dragon’s descent was swift, and within minutes they had landed in a familiar rocky clearing. The man was quick to jump down from the dragon’s back, and to offer Bond a hand in doing the same. He didn’t really need the man’s help, but he accepted the offered hand anyway and leapt down beside him. “That wasn’t so terrible, was it?” the man asked with a startlingly genuine smile. 

“Let’s just say I’m not looking forward to the return journey,” Bond muttered. Truthfully, it had been breathtaking up there in the clouds, but he could not bring himself to trust a dragon so easily. He had spent more time contemplating falling to his death than he had appreciating the view.  

The other man sighed dramatically. “There’s simply no pleasing some people.” Alongside his dragon, he began to make his way to the mouth of the enormous cave. Bond’s sharp eyes picked out several pairs of slitted eyes glinting back at them from the shadowy depths of the cave, and it was as if the man had read his mind when he turned around and said, “You should probably wait out here. I’ll let you know what we decide.” 

“That’s just fine with me,” Bond replied. Gratefully, he turned his back on the strange man and his dragons and made his way to the edge of the clearing and one of the more comfortable-looking rocks. Climbing to the top of the small boulder and leaning back against one of its ridges, Bond settled in to wait. Staring out into the darkened forest might have been a little unsettling given his first-hand knowledge of the kinds of creatures that prowled Albion’s forests at night, if not for the fact that the worst creatures he could have encountered were behind him, having a sort of family meeting. Occasional low, rumbling growls and airy hisses drifted across the clearing to remind him of the dragons’ presence. Almost absent-mindedly, Bond picked up a fist-sized rock from beside him and ran it along the edges of his sword, despite Tanner having sharpened the blade before he had left that morning. The rhythm was soothing, automatic, and he found himself yawning after awhile. The moon had already sunk below the tree line. The birds were not yet heralding dawn with their song, but the nocturnal insects made certain that silence never reigned in the forests. Strange clicks, hums and chirps reverberated through the trees, and every so often the rustling of leaves and the snapping of dry twigs signalled the passage of something larger. Bond thought it was a safe bet that nothing would venture too close to the clearing, however. It was clearly dragon territory.

After what must have been more than an hour, the sound of footsteps brought Bond quickly out of his half-conscious doze. He turned around to see his traveling companion walking toward him across the clearing. Bond climbed down from his perch to meet him. “Well,” the man said, running a hand through his dark curls, “that took longer than I thought it would. Greywing wasn’t as stubborn as I expected, and some of the others are curious about working with humans, but most of the clan have good reason to be suspicious of humans, and they took more…convincing.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “What sort of convincing?”

“They’ve agreed to go to Skyfall, given the other ‘alternatives’, but they expect compensation.” 

Bond’s other eyebrow shot up. “They want to be paid?”

“Er, after a fashion,” the man said. “It’s not as if they expect to spend it on anything, but they haven’t had the opportunity to amass a proper hoard here, seeing as stealing from humans would have been as liable to attract attention as killing them. As it is, we mostly have second-rate armour and weapons from soldiers, hunters and the like.” Bond’s gaze drifted once more to the few sets of human bones scattered throughout the clearing. The man cleared his throat sheepishly. “They’ll lend their services to your queen, on the condition that there’s treasure in it for them. They just want something to guard – perhaps a portion of the royal treasury? They would guard it well, and the Queen would still have access to it should she need it. Really, they just like shiny things. It’s in their nature.”

Bond didn’t miss the way the man’s eyes were occasionally drawn to the gleaming hilt of his most definitely _not_ second-rate sword. “Only _their_ nature?” 

The man’s eyes shot back up to Bond’s guiltily. “I suppose some of their taste has rubbed off on me,” the man said, running his fingers once more through his messy curls. It was a rather endearing gesture that contrasted starkly with his earlier gesture of aiming an arrow at Bond's head. Usually, unpredictability in his adversaries made Bond wary, but in this case it was more amusing than alarming. Bond supposed he was also coming to see the man as something other than an adversary, although ally was certainly too strong a word for him, at least for now.  

“Well, I’ve got a modest treasury at Skyfall that I’m not doing anything with. If that’s not enough for them, the Queen might be willing to supplement it.”

“I’m sure that would be sufficient,” the man said. “Their standards aren’t particularly high, given what we’ve got.”

Bond was reluctant to suggest traveling again, but the sooner he saw these dragons off, the better. “Shall we head out, then?”

The other man looked toward the east, and the lightening sky. “Dawn is breaking,” he observed. “Wouldn’t it be easier to fly ten dragons across the kingdom at night? Besides, when was the last time you slept? Personally, I’m exhausted, and if you fall asleep up there,” he gestured vaguely to the sky, “you could fall to your death.”

“I can assure you there’s no danger of me falling asleep ‘up there’,” Bond said. 

“Well, I very well might, and then you’d have to fly Greywing yourself,” the man said, stifling a yawn. “Besides, it simply makes much more sense to travel at night. Lord Mallory, whoever he is, can wait.” Bond would have liked to see him tell Lord Mallory that to his face. Still, the man had a point, and Bond reluctantly conceded it. “Then it’s settled. We’ll sleep during the daylight hours, and as soon as it gets dark, we’ll set out for Skyfall.” The man nodded, pleased with the plan, and turned to make his way back toward the cave.  

“Please don’t tell me you sleep in there,” Bond said, making no move to follow. 

The man stopped and turned back to face him. “Where else would I sleep?” He must have taken note of the guarded look Bond was wearing, because he sighed quietly, and took a few steps back toward the knight. “It’s going to be light out soon, which won’t exactly be conducive to getting a good rest. And that cave, in addition to being nice and dark, is one of the safest places in the kingdom, as long as you stay close to me. I’ll make sure the dragons know you’re not to be harmed.” 

“And how many house guests have you had, exactly?” Bond retorted. 

“You’re the first human I’ve spent this much time with since Greywing took me from my village,” the man said, although much of the bitterness in his voice seemed tempered by understanding. He understood Bond’s reluctance, perhaps better than anyone else could. “Nevertheless,” he continued, “these dragons trust my judgment when it comes to humans, and they won’t harm you if I tell them not to. As long as you don’t do anything stupid like pick a fight. Does that sound reasonable?”

Bond’s weariness finally got the better of him. He had been traveling all day and night, and all he wanted at this point was a place to lay down and sleep. “Fine,” he muttered, gesturing for the other man to lead the way. 

He followed his companion into the mouth of the cave, but stopped when a growl that sounded like gravel tumbling down a hillside emanated from the shadows, and a large pair of yellow eyes blinked open to fix on him. “It’s alright,” the man said, stepping forward with his hands extended toward the dragon. Bond could just make out the creature’s form in the dark, and he watched as the man stroked his hands soothingly along the sides of its snout. “He shall not harm us, and in return, we shall not harm him,” he murmured to the dragon. The dragon, for its part, seemed to consent. It ceased growling, and its eyes simply followed Bond as he carefully made his way to the other man’s side. “That’s Earthshaker,” the man said as he led Bond deeper into the cave. “He’ll guard the entrance and wake us when dusk falls.”

“That’s all well and good, but I can’t see a bloody thing in here,” Bond hissed, nearly tripping over a large rock. He almost lost his footing a second time when the man turned around. His eyes shone a vibrant green in the dark, and for a moment Bond mistook him for another dragon. 

“Sorry, I forgot humans can’t see in the dark.” A flame ignited, causing Bond to see spots as his eyes adjusted to the new light source. Once his vision had cleared, however, all he could do was stare. The man was holding fire in the palm of his hand – a wreath of low, orange flames that seemed to feed on nothing more than the air itself. The man’s eyes widened as he traced Bond’s stunned gaze. “ _Shit_ ,” he swore, and quickly snuffed the flames out in his fist. “I forgot you can’t do that, either.”  

“That was magic,” Bond murmured, his voice low. Magic rituals were one thing – they were a matter of magically potent ingredients combined according to a strict set of procedures; theoretically, anyone could perform one – but to wield magic as a _force_? That had been unheard of north of the White Sea for the past seven centuries. The Avonthal monarchy supposedly retained its ancient court magician’s role, but few were ever treated to a demonstration, and popular opinion in Albion and Hellespar had it that the court magician couldn’t perform magic at all. But this man certainly could.

“It’s– It’s dragons’ magic, I wasn’t born with it,” the man stammered in the dark. “Listen, James, this is absolutely one of the things you _cannot_ tell the rest of the Order.”

“Magic is dangerous,” Bond said, thinking about just how futile it had been to relieve this man of his weapons in the presence of the Queen.  

“Have you forgotten about all the _dragons_ I live with?” the man argued. “Besides, I’m not a proper magician. I can only summon fire, and humans are plenty skilled at lighting things on fire themselves, so there’s really no reason to make a fuss about this.”

“ _‘No reason to make a fuss’_?” Bond echoed incredulously. 

“I’m serious. If you breathe a word of this to anyone, the dragons and I will leave, and this kingdom will be all the weaker without us against whatever threat your queen is anticipating from Pelion.” 

“You’re worried that if word of your abilities got around, more people would try to perform your great-grandfather’s ritual, and kill more dragons in the process,” Bond said.  

“Yes.” 

Bond wouldn’t have objected to fewer dragons in the world, but he could see the danger in allowing the secret of magic-wielding to spread. “I won’t lie to my Queen, nor to my brothers in arms.” He heard the man inhale in order to object, no doubt forcefully, so he quickly continued before the other man had the chance. “But I see no reason any of them should ask me about magic in the first place. And if they don’t ask, I will have no reason to lie.” 

“Er… Thank you,” the man said, obviously surprised at Bond’s acquiescence. That made two of them. Bond tried not to think too hard about it. Unusual circumstances called for unusual methods, after all. 

“Now, I wouldn’t mind a little more of that light,” Bond said hopefully. 

“…Alright.” Slowly, the man unfurled his fingers, and the orange flames leapt to life once more. Bond still couldn’t make out the walls of the cave, as large as it was, but at least he could see where he was putting his feet. Yet it was almost impossible to keep his eyes on the ground rather than the flames flickering in the other man’s palm. Which was why he tripped over a dagger and sent it skittering off into the shadows with a series of loud, metallic clangs. Nine pairs of gem-like, serpentine eyes suddenly turned toward him from different locations throughout what must have been an incredibly large chamber, their irises reflecting the low light from the magic fire.  

“Easy, everyone,” the man said, having backed up a few steps to stand directly in front of Bond. “James here is going to take us to our new home when night falls. Until then, he is our guest. He’s not like the other humans you’ve encountered. He’s willing to put aside his fear in order to work with us, and we must do the same. Understood?” There was a low rumble throughout the cavern as the dragons seemed to give their assent, and a few pairs of eyes blinked shut or turned away. But most remained fixed on Bond as he followed the man through the large chamber, sticking close by his side. “It’s alright, they understand the situation,” the other man murmured. 

“Thank the gods, you’ve put my mind completely at ease,” Bond deadpanned. 

The other man chuckled. “Where’s your renowned courage, knight?”

“That’s _Sir_ knight to you,” Bond grumbled, skirting his way around a small pile of armour and weaponry that flickered dully in the firelight.   

“I’m afraid we’ll have to share the nest Greywing built for me,” the man said. "The floor's not very comfortable."

Bond frowned. _Nest?_ But sure enough, the fire finally cast a soft glow over the curving edge of a strange formation of rocks and supple branches, lined on the inside with moss, feathers and thick animal furs. The whole contrivance looked more comfortable than it probably should have, and certainly large enough to share. “I’m used to sharing a bed,” Bond replied, neglecting to mention that he tended to share his bed with women more often than men. There was such a thing as _over_ -sharing, after all. 

“Good,” the man said, clambering slightly awkwardly over the rim of the nest while still holding the flames aloft. “The hatchlings haven’t quite learnt the concept of ‘sharing’ yet, but they’re getting there.” To Bond’s incalculable dismay, two small dragons, one yellowish-white and the other a purple so deep it was almost black, each the size of the average house cat, wormed their way out from inside a bundle of furs and scampered up to the man, hissing airily and flicking their tongues across his face as he knelt down to stroke their scales. “Alright, off, off,” the man chuckled as the hatchlings tried to climb up his legs. Smiling, he held out a hand to help Bond up into the nest. Casting his good sense and self-preservation instincts to the wind once more, he took the other man’s hand.  

“So you’ve really got twelve dragons,” Bond said once he was settled atop a fluffy layer of furs with the light-coloured hatchling curled up comfortably (for the dragon) in the curve of his arm, its chin resting on his chest.  

“These little guys aren’t ready to defend themselves yet, let alone a kingdom,” the man said from his position beside Bond, one of his hands resting atop the dark-coloured hatchling, which had draped itself over his stomach. “I didn’t think it worth mentioning to _Her Majesty_. But these are the black market hatchlings I mentioned earlier. This one here’s Nox, and you've got Lux. They’re from the same brood. A brother and a sister.”

“They had better not try to eat my fingers while I’m sleeping,” Bond muttered, letting his eyes fall closed. 

“I have managed to dissuade them from fingers,” the man replied with a contented sigh as he did the same, extinguishing the flames in his fist and plunging the two of them into pitch darkness. “In fact, they’ll keep the rats from—“

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Bond threatened.  

“Very well,” the man said, his smile audible in his voice. “Goodnight, Sir knight.”

“It’s morning,” Bond yawned, and drifted off to the sound of quiet laughter.

 

 

 


	4. A New Order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready to meet all the dragons and 00s! (I'm only writing nine 00 agents, since more than that would be a little excessive.)

Bond awoke gradually to a warm, scaly weight pressed close against his side. Remembering that the dragon guarding the entrance was supposed to come wake them up when night fell, he logically concluded that it must not be dark yet. He never had been able to sleep for very long. He was certain he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep in a cave full of dragons, now that he was no longer so exhausted that he might have fallen asleep on his feet if his companion hadn't ushered him into this bizarre nest. A nest that had seemed divinely comfortable when he was dead tired, but that he now realised was not quite what he had imagined. He could hear the other dragons' steady breathing from all directions, ebbing and flowing through the cave like an underground wind. Occasionally, he heard scales and claws dragging across stone as one of the creatures moved in the darkness.

It was useless to keep his eyes open, as he wouldn't be able to see his own hand in front of his face, let alone an approaching dragon. His hearing was a much more useful sense to rely on in this situation, and it was sharper when he wasn’t uselessly trying to see. He let his eyes fall closed once more, and resigned himself to waiting. In a slightly nervous, absent-minded movement, he lifted his left hand to run it along the smooth scales of the little dragon curled up against him. It was a soothing motion, like sharpening his sword was, and the little dragons seemed friendly enough. At least until they got bigger. “Bloody dragons,” Bond murmured, continuing to stroke the hatchling’s scales.

“M’only part dragon,” his companion murmured sleepily, and Bond froze when he realised the man’s voice had come from directly beside him. And when he remembered that the other man had been wearing what had looked like dragon hide. “Were you…petting me?” He didn’t sound angry – just sleepy and confused. Still, Bond was no less mortified.

He cleared his throat. “Sorry, I thought you were one of the hatchlings.”

“Mm. That’s alright, felt nice.”

Bond stifled a cough by clearing his throat again, suspicious from the other man’s slurred, drowsy speech that he didn’t quite know what he was saying. “You did curl up against me first.”

“I…mn…what?” The man’s eyes blinked open and he looked up at Bond. When he met Bond’s gaze, his eyes widened and Bond heard him take a sharp, quiet breath. “Sorry.” The other man shuffled back slightly.

"It's alright," Bond said honestly. "I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep if you like."

"No, I'm awake now," the man said. "Were you having trouble sleeping?"

"Not much more than usual. I am sorry I woke you."

"Well, it's a nicer way of being woken up than Nox digging his claws into my shoulder, which is what usually happens."

"Aren't dragon hide leathers a little insensitive in present company?" Bond asked.

"If I had killed the dragon myself, it would be. But we can't save every dragon," the man said, his tone sombre. "And besides being fireproof, the dragon hide helps the hatchlings see me as one of their own."

"I see. And where are the little beasts?" Bond asked. "They're not preparing for an attack, are they?"

"No, they're curled up together down at the other end," the man said fondly. "I suppose they felt put out."

Bond chuckled. "It must be strange having another person around."

The other man laughed nervously. "Very. But that's not a bad thing. I've been worried, actually." His voice was suddenly calm, and rather grave. "Worried I might be losing touch with humanity. But I haven't exactly seen the best of it these past years. I thought it was something I wouldn't mind leaving behind."

"Is that why you went back to the village?" Bond asked. "To see if you missed it?"

"Yes. But there was nothing left for me there. I felt out of place."

Bond remembered that feeling. When he had been a child in the grand capital city, lost amidst a sea of gold and glamour, he had wanted nothing more than to leave. He had itched to return to the peace and honesty of the countryside, where people said what they meant and aspired to a better life rather than another's station. Bond had learnt to play the political games quickly – he did hold a title after all, and his parents hadn't raised him in ignorance. But he had never felt at home again until he had met Alec in the Royal Army, and they had made a pact to see each other through thick and thin, come what may. They had fought side-by-side ever since. Even the King's scout had recognised that they were an inseparable pair. "Perhaps a little more human contact would do you good."

"Perhaps," the man said. "I'm still not keen on the idea of placing these dragons deliberately in harm's way, but it's their choice. And they shouldn't have to live hidden away like this. Greywing and I wanted to protect the clan at any cost, but dragons are creatures of unfettered spirit and unconquerable freedom. Any one of them would rather die fighting than live the rest of their lives in hiding. I'm beginning to think Greywing did that flyby near the village on purpose."

"You had good cause to be wary of the world," Bond said. "The old king probably would have had the army hunt you down if he'd found out about all this. We might have met under very different circumstances, then. But Queen Anonyma has a cooler head. She won't discard a tactical advantage."

"So that's what we are, now. A 'tactical advantage'."

"Don't take it too personally," Bond said. "She sees everything in strategic terms. That's one of the reasons she never married. She has a way of seeing through performance to a person's weaknesses. And no one ever measured up."

"That's a handy skill for a monarch." The man's short conversation with the Queen had obviously not endeared her to him much.

"It is," Bond agreed. "But there are times when she resents it."

A thundrous roar echoed throughout the cave, and while Bond immediately reached for his sword, the other man yawned and stretched. "Wake up call," he said.

Exhaling slowly, Bond fully resheathed his sword. "Wonderful."

~ ◊ ~

About twenty minutes later, the two men and all twelve dragons stood out in the clearing, ready to depart. Bond had not had a good look at all of the dragons earlier, since he had been more concerned with getting Alec and himself out of their territory alive than noticing morphological details. He recognised the yellow eyes of Earthshaker, the dragon that had guarded the entrance to the cave during the day. They belonged to a powerful, lumbering beast with brown scales and wings on the smallish side, but which were tipped with long, dexterous claws. The tip of its tail ended in a heavy club, and its neck was ringed with spikes. The most striking dragon of the lot was also the largest, standing several metres taller than Greywing. It was covered in reddish-orange scales with darker coloured tiger stripes down its back and below its golden eyes, and it carried itself with the elegance and dignity of a king. As his companion believed it was necessary to make proper introductions, Bond learnt that this dragon's name was Empyrean. Striking for an entirely different reason was the large, slender frost dragon with scales and claws like shards of ice and a gaze like the biting gale of a blizzard. Its massive wingspan certainly looked capable of stirring up a storm. The man introduced this dragon as Permafrost, and assured Bond that it was one of the more reclusive members of the clan, and would only attack if provoked. He added hesitantly that it hadn't made its home anywhere near Skyfall. Luckily for the frost dragon. Bond knew that, unlike his companion, he didn't have it within himself to forgive the dragon that had killed his parents.

Salazar, a lithe, green dragon with a whiplike tail and spiralling, white horns practically introduced himself when he prowled up to Bond and nudged the knight with his snout, making Bond stumble. Bond swore loudly, nearly jumping out of his skin. The man apologised quickly for the dragon's behaviour and explained that Salazar was one of the more curious dragons, which was why they had found him with his horns stuck in a tree. No sooner had the man shooed Salazar away than another dragon, this one more birdlike than reptilian, nudged its beak against Bond from the other side and squawked at him inquiringly. Bond's eyes traveled from its white-and-golden-feathered wings down to the long spurs protruding from its scaled hind legs, to the large fan of feathers at the end of its tail. From the way the other man addressed the dragon as he scolded it, this one's name was Firequill. Another dragon seemed to join the man in reprimanding Firequill, emitting a high-pitched keen that was almost sonorous, as if Bond were hearing it underwater. The sound came from a relatively small, black dragon with smooth scales and a deep bluish-purple underbelly. It had strange horns that flattened and curved down the sides of its head like two saucers. This dragon the man introduced as Echo. Perhaps the most fearsome-looking of the clan was Belloc, not for her size, which was about average for a dragon, nor for her colour, which was a dull, ruddy brown, but for her long horns, fangs and spines, and especially the scorpion-like sting at the end of her tail. She tended to hiss instead of growl, and when she did a long, forked tongue flickered through her teeth. Another dragon looked as if it had been pulled straight out of a nightmare. With midnight black scales and shocking purple markings under its wings and underbelly, and sawtooth ridges everywhere it was feasible for a dragon to have them, such as under its jaw and along the backs of its legs, Nocturne, as he was called, could terrify any creature in the four kingdoms.

The final dragon, a little larger than Echo but smaller than any of the others, had smooth, black hide rather than scales, and an electric blue underbelly that matched the webbing of its wings and ear fans. Its eyes were the colour of lightning, and looked fiercely intelligent as it locked gazes with Bond. While the other man was explaining the purpose of Nocturne's markings – something about confusing other dragons – the lightning-eyed dragon approached Bond, moving silently. Once it was within arm's reach, it stretched out its neck, sniffing the air around him. Remembering how Greywing had done something similar, Bond cautiously extended his hand.

"Don't—!" the other man yelled, only just noticing what was happening, but before Bond could pull away, the dragon hit him with a huge electric shock that knocked him off his feet and, for just a split second, made him feel as though his bones had been set aflame. He might have screamed. He honestly couldn't remember.

When his ears stopped ringing, he realised the man was yelling at the dragon now. "Why don't you ever listen?! For once could you just be cooperative rather than causing more problems?!" It sounded eerily like a lecture he'd gotten once from the Queen when she had still been commander of the Order. The dragon looked unrepentant, perhaps even smug.

The man turned to him next and offered his hand to help Bond up, which Bond gratefully accepted. As he tried to steady himself on his feet once more, the man clasped his hands tightly, looking as if he wanted to fuss over Bond and check him for injuries, but didn't quite know how to go about it in an acceptable way. "I'm so sorry about Stormclaw," he said. "She can be...difficult."

"You might have mentioned that earlier," Bond wheezed, brushing himself off and eyeing the dragon in question warily.

"She's usually a little better behaved than that, but you're right, I should have warned you about her," the man said guiltily.

"How the hell did you get your hands on a lightning dragon?"

The man winced. "Did you hear about the dragon attack on Archstone City a few years ago?"

Bond levelled him with an even stare. "I was there. That dragon electrified the moat."

"Yes, well, she said that was an accident, but I'm not certain I believe her. When they shot her down with the ballista, we retrieved her before they could kill her. There aren't many of her kind left in Albion."

"She's killed a lot of people," Bond said.

"These are dragons, James," the other man snapped. "Most of them have. And so have you, if I'm not mistaken."

"I only kill for a reason."

"So do most dragons! The reason Stormclaw attacked the city was because they had begun blasting a mine in her territory. She felt threatened."

"I'm sure the orphans she left behind will understand that."

The man looked at him with some sympathy then. "James," he said. "In some conflicts, neither side is entirely in the right. In some of those, neither side is entirely in the wrong. I'm sure you understand that."

Bond did understand that, better than most. What he didn't understand was this man's ability to weigh dragon and human lives, and find the scales balanced. "Just keep your dragons on a leash."

The man's sympathetic expression hardened immediately. "You know that's not how it works."

"As someone who has taken an oath to defend this kingdom, you really shouldn't be telling me that," Bond responded, equally harsh.

"Do you still want our help or not?" the other man practically shouted. "For all I care, we could try our luck in Pelion!"

"I never wanted your help," Bond bit back. "The Queen does." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he remembered his obligation to act according to his Queen's wishes and not his own. Even if he didn't like the idea of working with this man and his dragons, it wasn't his decision to make. The Queen knew the risks she was taking, and had made her decision. Bond had to see it through. "So I'll hold my tongue. It's her call, not mine."

The man eyed him up and down slowly, calculating. "Fine," he said at last. "We won't be your problem for much longer, anyway. Can I trust you with Lux for the journey, or should I manage both of them myself?"

Bond looked down at the hatchlings currently chasing each other around the other man's feet. "You can give her to me."

"Good." The man scooped up the wriggling hatchling and handed her over to Bond. Her scales were too smooth to get a grip on, so she was able to slip out of his hands and climb up to perch on his shoulder with little effort. She chirped happily in his ear a couple times before draping herself over his shoulder. When the man picked up Nox, the hatchling scampered up his arm to settle in a more dignified manner on his shoulder. Other than the hatchling, the man carried nothing but a leather satchel.

"That's all you're bringing with you?" Bond asked.

"It's all I have, and it's all I need," the man replied brusquely, making his way toward where Greywing crouched at the edge of the clearing. Bond followed him in silence. Once they both sat astride the great beast, ready to take off, Bond was already beginning to regret some of the things he'd said. He was about to swallow his pride and muster up an apology when the other man signalled to the dragons with his hand, and all of them took to the sky in a flurry of wings.

The stomach-lurching feeling of fighting gravity was not quite so overwhelming as it had been the first time, and Bond found he could remain more aware of his surroundings as a result. This was not necessarily a good thing, as it meant he was more aware of the man in front of him, and the way he felt beneath Bond's hands – the smooth slide of dragon scales and the shifting of taut muscle beneath. Bond remembered how it had felt to run his hand down the man's side, when he'd mistaken him for one of the little dragons. It was difficult not to recall the memory, with his chest pressed against the other man's back. It was true that he usually preferred the company of women, but several men had caught his eye in the past, and none of them had been quite so striking as this one. It was unfortunate that their relationship was already so complicated. On the positive side, however, concentrating on keeping his hands above the other man's waist meant he was thinking less about the fact that they were hurtling through the air at a truly terrifying speed with nine other dragons spread out around them like a flock of enormous and incredibly deadly migratory birds.

In contrast to their first flight, Bond spoke only to give directions, and the other man only to acknowledge them. It was a longer distance to Skyfall than it was to Altair, Skyfall being on the northern border of Albion, but what would have been at least two days' ride on horseback was just under half a day's flight for the dragons. At around midnight, the skeletal spires of Skyfall Keep arose on the horizon. It was unnerving to see light in a few of the windows, as the castle had remained dark for decades. Lord Mallory and whatever assorted welcoming party the Queen had arranged must already be awaiting them.

Sure enough, the wail of a horn broke the silence of the night, heralding their arrival. Echo, apparently confused by the sound, wailed back. As they made their descent, what appeared to be nearly half of the entire Order of the Lion rode out to meet them, with Lord Mallory at their head. Though they all wore helmets except for Mallory, Bond recognised Alec's stallion among the horses. "The Queen must have been awfully confident that I was coming," Bond's companion grumbled as they landed.

Their welcoming party had stopped about a hundred yards away. "Is my knight unharmed?" Lord Mallory called across the distance. Bond's sharp eyes didn't miss the placement of the Lord's hand on the hilt of his sword.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," Bond called back, clambering down after his travelling companion. Lux nipped at his ear to dissuade him from jostling her further.

"Glad to hear it, despite the sarcasm," Mallory replied. "The two of you, please escort the dragons into the Great Hall. Afterward, we shall talk outside."

"That's not going to happen," Bond's companion yelled. "I don't know any of you, and I certainly won't lead these dragons into what could easily be a trap. We talk first, and the dragons stay with me," he countered.

Mallory's grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, but he released it a moment later. “Very well.” He dismounted, taking a few strides forward while signalling the other knights to stay back. "Then meet me in good faith."

Bond followed a step behind the other man as he approached the knight commander. While Mallory hadn’t had the job long enough for Bond to have developed any particular feelings about him, it felt good to be back among the rest of the Order. “Sending so many knights hardly feels like a gesture of good faith,” the other man said from beside him, once they had reached a more comfortable distance for conversation.

“That was not Her Majesty’s intention,” Mallory assured him. His eyes flickered briefly to the hatchlings perched on both men’s shoulders, watching him inquisitively. “Are you still interested in her proposal?”

“I’m listening,” the man replied, shifting his weight uneasily.

"The nine knights I have with me here, Sir Bond included, represent the best of our Order. Her Majesty wishes you to train each of them to ride one of your dragons. Having an elite order of dragon riders at the Crown's command will give our kingdom the edge it needs to maintain its position in Quatre Coronae. If you agree to undertake this task, you will become the Quartermaster of our new headquarters here at Skyfall. As per your request to remain out of the spotlight, you would be stationed at Skyfall and would not be required to participate in the Order's remote activities. One dragon would remain here with you at all times to help guard the keep. As, I suppose, would those hatchlings." Mallory's keen gaze never wavered from the other man's face, assessing the impact of his words.

It wasn't difficult. The man was gaping openly at the knight commander. Bond was trained to keep his true emotions under tighter guard, but although he didn't show it, he was at least as shocked as his companion at what the Queen had in mind. "Dragon riders?" the man finally said, managing to sound both dazed and incensed. "I already told your queen, dragons cannot be trained."

"I did not say train the dragons. I said train the knights," Mallory replied calmly. "These are highly skilled men and women you would be working with. Surely you could teach them to do what you do."

"I wouldn't be so sure," the other man said. "It's possible such a thing can't be done."

"If that is indeed the case, then Her Majesty will re-evaluate the situation. For now, she asks only that you try."

The man cast a searching look back toward his dragons. The creatures were wary in the presence of the armed knights, but they stood resolutely under night sky, silhouetted against the large, pendulous moon on the horizon. It was the most majestic sight Bond had ever seen, and the gleaming pageantry of a queen's coronation was still fresh in his memory. "I suppose we can agree to that," the man said, turning back to face Mallory.

"Very well," Mallory said. "Get down on one knee."

The other man looked taken aback. "I have never knelt before someone in my life."

"I do not mean to humble you, stranger," Mallory said. "I mean to honour you." Slowly, the man dropped to one knee, keeping his suspicious gaze locked on Mallory's. He flinched when the knight commander drew his sword, and Nox hissed and scampered down his outstretched arm. "Do you swear your allegiance to Queen Anonyma of Albion, first of her name, who commands you to defend her kingdom and her person until age, infirmity or death release you from your duty?"

The man didn't seem one to put much stock in oaths, and indeed, he took only a moment to consider before he answered, a note of curiosity in his voice, "I swear."

"Then I, Lord Gareth Mallory, by the power vested in me by Her Majesty the Queen, hereby dub you the Quartermaster of our new Order, the Order of Skyfall." During his declaration, Mallory tapped the man with his blade once on each shoulder, as Queen Anonyma had once done for Bond, and on the last word, the knight commander raised his sword to the sky. "Thus begins our new Order," he cried.

Bond joined the other knights as they followed suit, raising their swords to the sky and shouting, "Our new Order!" Silently, he wondered what in the name of all the gods was going to become of him and this new Order. After their newly minted Quartermaster had stepped back, still looking rather bemused, Mallory called forth each of them in turn, to swear new oaths and be re-knighted as members of the Order of Skyfall.

First he called Sir Edward Donne, a tall and handsome man with ruddy blonde hair and a wicked sense of humour that was a match for Alec's. He was one of the best swordsmen Bond had ever seen, and whenever they crossed blades, Bond found himself thoroughly outmanoeuvred nine times out of ten. Which was a miracle, considering the man ought to tip over backward with his nose that high in the air. Nevertheless, his pride was well founded, and Bond was hardly surprised he'd been chosen. "Arise, Sir Edward Donne, first knight of the Order of Skyfall."

As Sir Donne withdrew, Mallory called forth Sir Dorian Abeline, a man of relatively short stature with raven hair and dark eyes. He was always rather quiet, but it was an attentive sort of quiet that made him seem calculating rather than simply reserved. He favoured agility and stealth over strength, and he tended to be sent out alone to ferret out important information that other parties were keen to keep under lock and key. His precise methods remained something of a mystery even to the rest of the Order. Next, Mallory called for Sir Jack Mason. He was one of the most ruthless members of the Order, never afraid to bloody his sword in the name of the monarch. It was obvious to anyone who had seen him fight that if he hadn’t been granted a chivalric order, he would have found another excuse to indulge his taste for violence.

Fourth to be called was Lady Scarlett Papava, a woman with a wit as sharp as her blades, of which she tended to carry many. She could talk her way into anything, and fight her way out of the consequences. Her lovely face, with her enchanting green eyes and hair the colour of a sunset, was but another weapon in her arsenal. While other members of the Order were too proud for such tactics, Lady Papava, like Alec and Bond, was not opposed to methods of persuasion that were nonviolent, and pleasurable for both parties. Sir Stuart Thomas, the fifth to be called, was in many ways Lady Papava’s opposite. He was always professional, and took his duty to defend and serve very seriously. He was also incredibly methodical, always planning ten steps ahead, and as a result, he very rarely faced a problem he had not anticipated.

Mallory called Alec forward next. He dismounted and removed his helmet, shooting Bond an amused look before turning to kneel before his commander. Of course, if anyone would be excited about all of this, it would be Alec. “Arise, Sir Alec Trevelyan, sixth knight of the Order of Skyfall,” Mallory said after he had finished. Alec favoured him with a big, childish grin in response before stepping back. After a barely audible sigh at Alec’s interminable cheeriness, Mallory called Bond’s name. Bond glanced briefly to his right at the man who had started all of this. Evidently having overcome his initial shock, he was now observing the rest of the ceremony with rapt attention. He seemed keen to understand every intricacy of what he had gotten himself and his dragons involved in.

Bond extracted Lux's talons from his shoulder padding and handed the hatchling off to the other man. Then he stepped forward and dropped to one knee, crossing his right arm over his chest and bowing his head. "Do you swear your allegiance to Queen Anonyma of Albion, first of her name, who commands you to defend her kingdom and her person until age, infirmity or death release you from your duty?"

"I swear," Bond answered. He did not take oaths lightly, but he had found no greater cause worth fighting for.

He did not flinch when Mallory’s sword came down gently upon his shoulder. “Then arise, Sir James Bond, seventh knight of the Order of Skyfall,” Mallory said.

Bond stood and stepped back, resuming his place beside his new Quartermaster—however strange a notion that was. Despite insisting that he didn’t want the man’s help, he felt compelled to help the other in navigating this new terrain. He knew the man had virtually no experience to speak of when it came to human interaction, and for his first such experience in decades, he had been thrown in with some of the most dangerous and duplicitous people in the kingdom. Although he technically outranked Bond now, Bond certainly didn’t envy him his position.

The eighth to be called was Lady Madeleine Grey. She was of noble blood, but with three older brothers, she would never inherit her family title, and she detested the idea of marrying into another one and owing everything to her husband. Intentionally or not, her brothers had seen to it that she grew into a tough and fiercely independent-minded woman with a talent for physical combat, and she had decided to earn a different sort of title for herself. Finally, Mallory called forth the only member of the Order who Bond truly disliked. Say what you would about the others’ personalities, but at least they were all highly competent. Sir Humphrey Janner was not. He was the last of the old guard who had served under Ulrich when he had been knight commander. He was a stubborn, simple-minded, intractable man too stuck in his old ways to do the job as it needed to be done in a new political environment. But he was a good fighter, and his seniority grandfathered him into opportunities such as this.

When the knighting ceremony was finished, Mallory turned his attention back to Bond and the new Quartermaster. “Her Majesty bid me tell you both that she knew how much you’d dislike this new arrangement at first, but she’s confident that if you give it a try, it will be worth your efforts. She also requests that you wait at least a week before sending her complaints."

The Quartermaster glanced at Bond appraisingly before answering. "I shall do my best to make this work. I believe it's still in our best interest to work with her."

"She hoped you would see it that way," Mallory said. "You and your dragons are quite remarkable." His gaze shifted over the Quartermaster's shoulder to observe the dragons standing at attention in the distance. "I can't honestly say I'm looking forward to working with you, but if all of us make it through this ordeal in one piece, it will be quite an experience."

"I think you and I are in agreement on that point," the Quartermaster replied.

Mallory's brow furrowed. "I know you've been living somewhat outside of human society for some time, but it is proper to address me as 'Lord'." Bond was a little too slow to disguise the snicker that escaped him as a cough. "Oh, why do I even bother with you lot?" Mallory addressed the heavens. "Anyway, Sir Bond, we’ve already settled in, but we’ve left you the master bedroom. Your gamekeeper, Mr. Kincade insisted upon it.”

“Kincade?” Bond asked in surprise. “He’s still here?”

“He said he’s been keeping the place warm for you.”

“I’ll have to thank him.”

"He has just finished clearing out the Great Hall for the dragons," Mallory continued. "If the two of you would escort the creatures there and get them settled, we can all break bread in the dining hall and discuss matters further."

"Yes, my Lord." Bond replied. Mallory rolled his eyes and turned his back on the two men, signalling the rest of the knights to ride back to the castle.

As Bond and the new Quartermaster walked back toward the waiting dragons, the Quartermaster said, "I'm sorry you were chosen for this."

"I don't think it's going to work," Bond said. "So I'm not too worried."

The Quartermaster gave him a long look. "I'd be offended," he finally said, "but I don't think it's going to work, either."

"Well, at least we're back to agreeing on things."

The Quartermaster frowned. "Have we agreed on things before?"

Bond thought about that. "You know, I can't remember," he said, earning a chuckle from the other man.

When they reached the awaiting dragons, the smallest of them standing over twice Bond's height, an involuntary shiver still ran through him at the deadly beasts' proximity. If just one of them attacked at this moment, he would be dead. But they hadn't killed him yet, and he supposed that counted for something. "I'll explain everything soon, but for now, we should get inside," the Quartermaster told his dragons.

As he began to lead the creatures toward the castle, a thought occurred to Bond, and he voiced it aloud. "You gave all of these dragons names, but you never chose a name for yourself?"

"I couldn't remember the name my parents gave me, and nothing else I could think of felt right," the Quartermaster said. "Although 'Quartermaster' is a bit of a mouthful, isn't it? I suppose, if you like, you can call me Q."

 

 

 


	5. Home

As Q and Bond led the dragons to the keep, Kincade came out to meet them. The years had weathered his face, but his eyes were as sharp and spirited as Bond remembered them. The old man kept a wary eye on the dragons, but he didn’t seem frightened. He was Skyfall’s gamekeeper after all, and much of the game in the northern wilds was nearly as dangerous as dragons were. 

“Kincade,” Bond said, stepping forward to greet the man who had practically raised him during the long intervals his parents were away tending to political affairs. “It’s good to see you again.” Kincade embraced him and clapped him firmly on the back. “I meant to come back,” Bond said, quieter. 

“No, you didn’t,” Kincade answered. “But I don’t blame you. When I sent you away from this place, I didn’t expect you’d ever look back.” The gamekeeper stepped back to get a good look at Q. “So, you’re the young man who’s got the kingdom in a stir. You don’t look like much.” Q’s eyes glinted dangerously in the dark, and Kincade chuckled. “But I suppose there’d have to be more to you than meets the eye, wouldn't there?” He held out his hand. “I’m Kincade, gamekeeper here since James was a boy. Welcome to Skyfall.”

Q shook the old gamekeeper’s hand with an uncertainty that belied just how unused to other people he was. “I’m…Q.” The moniker still sounded new on his tongue, untested, but somehow, it suited him. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

Kincade laughed as he turned back toward the main gate. “For that, you ought to thank the Viscount of Skyfall.”

Q’s brow furrowed. “Viscount…? Oh.” He looked over at Bond. “That would be you, wouldn’t it?” 

Bond shrugged. He hadn’t thought of himself that way in a very long time. “Just call me James.”

“Alright.” Q gave him a small, guarded smile, and followed Kincade through the gates, his dragons close behind. 

“You’re lucky James’ ancestors had a flare for the dramatic,” Kincade called over his shoulder as he led their strange caravan through the first of three inner courtyards around which the keep was built. The dragons had to prowl single-file through the main gate, and they walked with their weight low to the ground, their wings drawn in, eyes scanning the thick, stone walls that surrounded them. They looked as though they felt as threatened walking through that gate as Bond felt watching them do so. “This castle’s big enough to house _twenty_ dragons,” Kincade continued. “It’s hell to upkeep, I’ll tell you that. I’m calling back some of the old servant families from the surrounding villages, but with the knights quartered here, we’ll have to keep the serving staff light. Can’t have the Queen’s secrets being the subject of idle gossip.”

The doors to the Great Hall at the far end of the courtyard were quite large enough for even the most imposing of Q’s dragons. Inside, Kincade had cleared all the furniture, leaving only the Bond family banner hanging at the far end of the enormous hall, bearing the ancient white stag crest with the motto _Orbis non sufficit,_ “The world is not enough,” embroidered beneath. Bond wondered idly if his ancestors would have chosen a different family motto had they known that, centuries later, their lineage would die with him. The inevitability of time was a humbling thing. 

As Q stood in the doorway, looking over the space with a critical eye, Greywing came up behind him and pressed her snout between his shoulder blades, nudging him forward. Q laughed, reaching back to stroke her jowls. “Yes, you’re right, it looks quite safe,” he said. He stepped aside so the dragons could enter. They prowled the large space, investigating every inch of it before, one by one, they settled down to rest. Q bent down to let Lux and Nox scramble down from their perches on his shoulders and scamper across the flagstones to settle within the curve of Greywing’s tail where she lay curled beneath one of the tall, stained glass windows. He then pulled the heavy, wooden doors shut behind them, displaying a surprising amount of strength. 

Bond turned to address Q and Kincade. “Kincade, tomorrow, please direct the servants to transfer the contents of the treasury here, to the Great Hall. Q, the dragons will need to be elsewhere while they do that.”

“The dragons will need to hunt in the morning,” Q said. “That ought to keep them occupied for a few hours. Mr Kincade, is there enough game in the area to sustain this many dragons? They may go after livestock, if there isn’t." 

“Skyfall Keep sits at the edge of ten thousand acres of plains and woodland,” the gamekeeper answered. “She’ll never be wanting for big game. If I may, Quartermaster, I know a thing or two about dragons, myself. I could help tend to them.”

Q seemed pleasantly surprised by the offer. “They mostly tend to themselves, but if I should think of anything, I’ll let you know. I _would_ recommend keeping the stables locked up tight.”

That thought hadn’t even occurred to Bond yet, and he whirled on Q. “So help me, Q, if one of your dragons takes a bite out of one of my horses, _I_ will take a bite out of _you_.” 

Q blinked at him mutely, and Bond cursed internally. He hadn’t meant the threat to sound quite so suggestive. Either he wanted the man or wanted nothing to do with him – why couldn’t he seem to make up his mind? “Er, understood,” Q said finally, a light dusting of colour rising to his cheeks. 

Kincade cleared his throat gruffly. “Now that the dragons are settled, I can show you to your rooms.”

“Of course,” Bond said, walking with Kincade to the door at the far end of the hall. 

Q lingered behind them a ways, checking in with all the dragons. When he reached the door, he turned to address them all. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised, and closed the door on a chorus of subdued growls. 

“I made it clear to Lord Mallory that the master bedroom is yours,” Kincade told Bond as they made their way up the grand staircase, which was flanked by a pair of carved stags standing proudly atop the foot of each bannister. 

Bond chuckled. “I would’ve liked to have seen that.”

“You’re the master of the house, it’s your bedroom,” Kincade insisted. “Quartermaster, I’ve made up James’ old bedroom for you. It’s just down the hall from the master bedroom, in case you should need anything from your host. I heard you’re not used to having a roof over your head, let alone all the intricacies that come with an estate as large as this.”

“That was very considerate of you. Thank you,” Q said. Bond took note of the way his hand trembled slightly as he shoved it through his thick curls in what was almost certainly a nervous gesture. Away from his dragons, he seemed even more unsure of his footing. 

“The feast is still being prepared, so the two of you have time to scrub up,” Kincade said. 

“We’re feasting at midnight?” Bond asked. 

Kincade merely shrugged. “It’s tradition. You found a new Order, you have a feast. You nobles have only got yourselves to blame for your strange customs.” Q snorted. He and Kincade were probably going to get along quite well. 

Kincade showed them both of their rooms on the fourth floor of the East Wing, and then told them they could meet the others down in the dining hall when they were ready. After that, he left them to themselves. Q looked a little bit lost standing in the doorway to his room, so Bond moved to join him, gently ushering him inside. He watched as Q wandered through the room as though he were walking through a dream. He took in the lavish furnishings like they were completely alien to him, which, Bond supposed, they were. He stopped in the entrance to the bathroom. 

“Is that a bathtub?” he asked faintly. 

“Yes,” Bond said, moving forward to dip his fingers into the water waiting inside the large, brass tub. “The servants must have filled it some time ago. The water’s gone cold. I’ll have them refill it.”

“It’s supposed to be hot?” Q asked in disbelief. “Well, don’t bother the servants about it, I can take care of that myself.” He curled a hand around the rim of the tub, and after a few moments, a gentle steam began curling off the surface of the water. 

“That’s handy,” Bond remarked, still as entranced by Q’s magic as Q seemingly was by the bathtub. “You’ve never seen a bathtub before?”

“No,” Q said, running his own fingers through the water. “We used buckets of stream water in the village, and there was a waterfall near the cave.”

Bond did his damnedest not to conjure a mental image of Q bathing in a waterfall, and almost succeeded. He cleared his throat. “Well, oils and soaps are here,” he indicated the small, wooden cabinet beside the tub, and the rack on the other side, “fresh towels here.” He bit his tongue before he asked if Q needed any assistance. Instead he said, “I’ll fetch you some clothes to change into for dinner,” and left for his own room. 

He rummaged through his father’s old wardrobe looking for garments that wouldn’t simply fall off Q’s slight frame. Finally, he settled on an emerald silk tunic and black brocade jacket, black cotton trousers and a pair of polished black boots. He brought them back over to Q’s room, only to find the young man already laying back in the bathtub looking utterly content, the hot water having brought a lovely flush of colour to his pale skin. From the doorway, Bond could only see the backs of his shoulders and head, which was tilted back luxuriantly to expose a long, elegant neck that Bond suddenly wanted to sink his teeth into. He didn’t move any further into the room. 

“You nobles got one strange custom right,” Q said, his eyes still closed. “This is divine.”

Bond chuckled. Even as a knight, he realised, he had come to take a certain level of comfort for granted. Q took nothing for granted. “Will these clothes do, Quartermaster?” he asked, holding up his choices. 

Q turned to face him, resting his arms on the rim of the tub. “Were those your father’s?” he asked, eyes wide. “Those are far too fine, I couldn’t possibly. Aren’t there spare servants’ clothes I could borrow?”

“Nonsense,” Bond said, finally entering the room and closing the door behind him. He began laying out the clothes on his old bed. “You’re a member of our Order now, and an honoured guest of the house of Skyfall. You’ll receive my full hospitality, as well as I remember it, anyway. Tomorrow, one of the servants will take your measurements and place an order with our tailor in the capital. You’ll have clothes that fit you properly in a couple of weeks.” 

A little more colour seemed to rise to Q’s cheeks. “Thank you,” he said, not quite meeting Bond’s eyes. 

“Would you like me to store your weapons in the armoury?” Bond asked. Q had left them in a small pile on the floor. 

“Er, I’d rather keep them with me, if that’s alright.” 

It was a little bit painful, the thought that Q could be surrounded by some of the highest and thickest castle walls in the kingdom, the best knights the Queen had to offer him, and his formidable clan of dragons, and still not feel entirely safe. But he was like Bond in that regard. “Quite alright,” Bond replied. “I sleep with my sword under the pillows every night,” he added in a conspiratorial tone. 

Q gave him such an earnest smile then, that Bond felt a sudden stab of guilt. “Listen, Q, I wanted to apologise for the things I said earlier,” he began hesitantly. He wasn’t used to making apologies. 

Q saved him by interrupting. “It’s alright. You were attacked, and you lashed out in return. I understand. Dragons do it all the time. Our two races are more similar than you think. I realise dragons and humans haven’t seen the best of each other, but I hope, if this whole thing isn’t a complete disaster, that you and the other knights will come to see them as I do.”

After a moment’s consideration, Bond said, “That's a nice thought.” He dipped his head. “I’ll leave you to it, Quartermaster. When you’re ready, the dining hall is two floors down, just below us.”

Q thanked him again, and Bond reluctantly took his leave. His own bathwater had gone quite cold, so he just scrubbed himself down quickly before returning to his father’s wardrobe to find something for himself to wear. He pulled out a long, sapphire brocade jacket, and a fuzzy memory resurfaced of his father wearing the jacket while greeting guests, his mother smiling beside her husband in all her radiant beauty and kindness. Smiling faintly himself, Bond chose a simple white tunic, grey vest and black trousers to go with the jacket, and dressed for dinner. 

Ten minutes later, he walked into the dining hall to find everyone else except Q already seated at the table, dressed in evening attire and chatting idly as they waited. Not many visitors ever made it all the way up to Skyfall, so the dining hall was cosier than most of the rest of the castle, and featured only a twelve-person table, which was barely longer than the enormous fireplace set into the wall opposite the windows. There could have been a blizzard outside, and the dining hall would still be toasty warm as long as the fire was lit.

Lord Mallory sat at the head of the table, the knights and Tanner occupying all but one of the chairs along the sides. The two empty chairs that remained were at the near end of the table – the closest chair on the window side, and the chair at the head opposite Mallory. Bond chose the one on the side, next to Alec and opposite Tanner. 

“You almost look like a proper Viscount,” Alec greeted him as he sat down. 

Bond looked Alec over. He looked quite dashing himself in a rough, orange tunic and brown leather jacket, but he was too good a friend for Bond to see him as anything else. A couple of times, when Bond had been very, very drunk, he’d made a pass at his friend, and Alec had played along for laughs because he was, as established, a right bastard, but Bond had sobered quickly each time, and all Alec had earned for his trouble was a punch in the mouth. “And you almost look like a proper knight,” Bond said, returning Alec’s smile. 

“Touché,” Alec acknowledged. “So, you’re the first of us dragon riders to actually ride a dragon. How was it?”

A faint wave of nausea returned simply at the thought. “Let’s put it this way. I’m glad I didn’t do any feasting beforehand, or it would have been a waste of a good feast.” 

Alec chuckled. “That bad?”

“They’re wild beasts, they’re not meant to be ridden,” Bond said. “Our new Quartermaster only manages it because he’s lived with them so long, he thinks he’s more dragon than human.”

“He is quite the little spitfire, isn’t he?” Alec mused. “Well, _I’m_ excited.”

_“You_ have a death wish,” Bond told him. 

Alec raised his goblet in a mock toast. “The best of us do.”

The conversation around the table died down quickly, and Bond looked up to see Q standing in the doorway. With his rich, dark curls, creamy skin and elfin features, he looked like he belonged in noblemen’s clothes just as much as he belonged in dragon hide and armed to the teeth. He also looked like he was about to start hyperventilating. He approached the table as though it might actually rear up and bite him. 

“Um, James, am I supposed to sit here?” he whispered, his hand on the back of the only empty chair, the one at the head of the table, closest to Bond.

“You’re the one everyone wants to hear from,” Bond said. 

Q swallowed thickly and sat down, eyes sweeping the table and taking in eleven attentive faces, some curious, some suspicious, and others so pristinely polite they concealed all forms of calculation. “Welcome, Quartermaster,” Lord Mallory said graciously. “I realise this is all quite new to you, so please allow me to start off by telling you a little more about our Order…”

As Mallory gave his history lesson, and the cooks brought out the first course, Alec leaned over and whispered in Bond’s ear, “ _‘James’_ , is it?”

Bond shot him an irritated look. “We’ve gotten to know each other a little,” he whispered back. 

“Have you, now?” 

“Not what I meant, Alec.”

“Well, _I_ certainly wouldn’t mind getting to know him a little.”

“ _Alec_ ,” Bond warned. 

Alec merely chuckled quietly to himself. Mallory shot a sharp glance their way. “Well,” the lord said, “as I’m clearly boring some of you, I think it’s time we hear from you, Quartermaster. You can trust in our discretion, and our fraternity, but as our Quartermaster, we must be able to trust in you. So, how exactly did you come to gain influence over a clan of dragons?”

Seemingly having eased into the new social atmosphere somewhat, Q told an abridged and slightly altered version of the story he’d told Bond. “There are a lot of odd superstitions outside the cities,” Q said. “My parents thought that force feeding their child dragon’s blood would make me stronger. It did…change me,” Q admitted, because there was no overlooking those striking eyes of his, “in ways I still don’t fully understand. But even if Greywing hadn’t come for us that night, I would have been an outcast after that. All that I am now, I owe to the dragons who raised me, not the dragon who was killed for me.” If it pained Q to twist his parents' desperate efforts to save his life into a vainglorious power fantasy, he didn't show it. The dead didn't care about their reputations, after all.

“Why didn’t the grey dragon kill you?” Mallory asked. 

“I’m not sure how much any of you know about dragons, but it’s common practice amongst them that if one dragon kills another’s child, the bereaved parent will steal an egg or a hatchling from the killer or the killer's clan, and raise it as its own. It’s a form of recompense, and it actually prevents fighting between clans.”

“How enlightened,” Mallory said. “I believe I have heard of that practice, but I’ve never heard of a human child being mixed up in it.”

“Well, everyone thought I was dead,” Q said. 

“And all the while, you’ve been rescuing endangered dragons?”

“Yes.”

“How very interesting,” Mallory said mildly. He looked to Bond. “And all of this accords with what you and Sir Trevelyan learned in Elkhorn Village?”

“It does,” Bond answered. “Prize hunters are an odd bunch. It hardly surprises me one would do something like that.”

Mallory nodded, looking back to Q. “And the dragons heed you out of…a sense of kinship?”

“Yes,” Q said. “Clan bonds are strong. They treat me as one of them. And we have learned to understand each other.”

Mallory hummed thoughtfully. “Of course, any hard evidence burnt to ash thirty years ago, and we have only your word for all of this.” 

Q sighed quietly. “I can think of no proof to offer you that I do not seek power, other than that I have not sought it yet. For thirty years my clan has been growing, and you found us living in a cave. I do not wish a war with the kingdom in which we live. I have made no acts of aggression against you.” Bond cleared his throat, and Q rolled his eyes. “ _Other_ than threatening those two when we first met,” he amended, waving a hand in Bond and Alec's direction. “These dragons and I will do anything to defend our home and our family. And if this place is to be our home, and all of you, the members of this new Order, our brothers and sisters, then you will find none so loyal as we. But to us, home and family are things that are built together, and sacrificed for. If you expect these dragons’ loyalty, they will expect yours.”  

“They certainly are more complicated creatures than we thought,” Mallory said. “Almost as complicated as you, Quartermaster. But we’re used to working with a little complication. I believe we’ll be able to work with you. Am I right?”

There was a modest chorus of assent from around the table. Everyone was willing to give Q a chance, but they would be watching him closely to see what he did with it. 

By the time that was settled, the cooks were bringing out the main course, a whole roast boar with cooked apples and cabbage. After it was carved up and distributed onto plates, poor Lord Mallory looked positively scandalised when Q picked up a rib with his hands and began tearing into it with his teeth. Thus far, he’d been canny enough to figure out the operation of a fork and knife by watching the others around the table, but apparently he saw no reason to use them on the meat. They were more of a hindrance than a help when it came to the bones, Bond thought, and with a grin, he set his fork and knife aside, picked up the cut of meat on his plate, and bit into it. Alec quickly followed suit, and soon, everyone but Mallory was laughing and eating with their hands. Mallory looked like the very principles of law and order were crumbling around him and giving way to primal chaos, but as Kincade had correctly pointed out, this was Bond’s house, not Mallory’s, and there was nothing the lord could do about it.

After a little too much wine on both their parts, Tanner got into a heated discussion with Q about dragon saddle designs. “If you’d like to try putting a bit in one of my dragons’ mouths, be my guest,” Q said, his speech slightly slurred and his cheeks tinged a lovely pink. “But I’m telling you, if you want to try to steer, they’ll respond much better to a tug on their horns.”

“I suppose I could fit the reins to their horns…” Tanner mumbled, obviously struggling with altering his entire fundamental understanding of saddle making. 

“I still don’t see why they need saddles at all,” Q said. “It’s undignified.”

“They need combat saddles,” Tanner insisted. “Not only are saddles the best way of communicating with the mount, and carrying equipment and supplies, but they’re vital to the rider’s safety. How is a person supposed to stay on a dragon’s back without a saddle while it’s diving, or, I don’t know, _flying upside-down?_ ” 

Q made a dismissive _psssh_ sound. “It’s not that difficult. I do it all the time.”

“You’re bloody insane,” Tanner said incredulously. 

Eventually, they resolved their argument when Tanner promised he’d allow Q to assist in designing the saddles, and in turn, Q speculated that Greywing might be willing to assist Tanner at the forge. That had Tanner practically salivating at the possibility of forging with dragon fire. It was every blacksmith’s dream to forge a weapon with dragon fire, but such weapons were things of legend rather than reality. At least, they had been. 

While Edward and Jack argued passionately about who would be the first to catch up to their Quartermaster in dragon-related skills, Scarlett and Alec competed in flirting with Q, which Bond managed not to be too annoyed about, since it was hardly unusual behaviour from them. Usually, Bond would join in, but he was too busy being amused by the fact that Q was too drunk by that point to recognise what either of them was doing. He simply thought they were being exceedingly nice to him, which Bond thought was really rather sweet. 

After another hour or so of increasingly sloppy socialising, the meal came to an end, and everyone – even Lord Mallory, after he’d got some more wine in him – returned to their rooms in good spirits. Alec, Bond and Q were the last to leave, but soon enough, Alec made his exit, shooting Bond a wink as he left him alone with Q.

Bond had to help Q stand, since he stumbled and nearly toppled over on his first attempt. “That’s it, Quartermaster, just put your arm around my shoulders,” he encouraged. 

Q blinked owlishly at him. “Was there something funny in the drink? Because it tasted strange at first, but I didn’t want to be rude, so I kept drinking it, and then it started tasting really nice." 

“It was wine, Q. There was alcohol in it.” 

Q just looked at him in puzzlement, his eyes unfocused. Gods, they were so _green_. “Alcohol?” he repeated carefully. 

“Shit, you didn’t actually mean to get drunk, did you?” Of course Q didn’t have any experience with alcohol, he’d been a small child the last time he’d been on good terms with humans. Bond didn’t know whether to laugh or feel incredibly guilty. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.” He carefully steered Q toward the door, but Q stopped halfway there.  

“Don’t we need to clear up?” Q asked. “The table’s a mess.”

“No, the servants will take care of it,” Bond assured. 

Q snorted. “What, can they do magic, too? Do they just flit from place to place, magically tidying your messes, filling your bath, purchasing your clothes?”

“Pretty much,” Bond said, while in truth he was still readjusting to this lifestyle himself. He hadn’t lived like the rest of the nobility since he’d joined the army. “But I pay them handsomely for it, and they’d much rather be working here than out in the fields. My family’s always treated our serving families well. If you ever catch one of them at their work, you can ask them about us.”

“I will,” Q said, and it was probably supposed to sound like a threat, but it was hard to take it that way when he couldn’t stop smiling.

With some careful manoeuvring, Bond got Q’s boots and jacket off, and got him tucked into bed. He fell into a light doze almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, and Bond left quietly to return to his own room. Unlike Q, Bond hadn’t drunk nearly enough to make him sleepy, which was an oversight on his part. He should have known he’d have trouble sleeping here, of all places. He lay awake in his parents’ bed for what must have been hours, because eventually the first fingers of dawn began to creep under the curtains. Finally, Bond threw off the blankets in a huff, and pulled on a pair of boots and a fur-lined coat. He would do what he always did when he had trouble sleeping: go for a ride. He had been missing his horse anyway, and he wanted to make sure Alec had taken good care of her. 

He made his way quietly through the darkened corridors down to the ground floor and headed for the courtyard where the stables were located. On his way, he passed the entrance to the Great Hall, and he thought he heard a voice from inside. Slowing his pace, he listened at the door. Someone was definitely talking, but he couldn’t make out the words. Slowly, he pulled open the door, ready to slam it in a dragon’s face should one of them decide to lunge at him. But none of them did. Most of the dragons were asleep, including Greywing, who was nearest the door. Curled up under her wing was Q, cradling one of the hatchlings in his arms and talking to it about how strange people were while he let the other one climb over his chest to play with the strings of his tunic. 

He stopped talking to the little dragon and looked up when Bond approached. “You know you have a bed, right?” Bond said quietly, so as not to disturb the slumbering dragons. 

“Yes, I remember you putting me in it,” Q replied self-consciously, looking down at the hatchling in his arms once more. “But I woke up with a pounding headache, and I haven’t slept in a bed in so long… I just couldn’t go back to sleep. Why are you up this early?”

“I couldn’t sleep, either,” Bond admitted. “I was going to go for a ride. On horseback,” he specified, casting another wary glance around at the dragons. “Would you like to join me? The fresh air should help with your hangover.” 

“My what?”  

“The headache.”

“Oh,” Q said, obviously trying to pretend that what Bond had said made perfect sense. “Alright.” He carefully removed the hatchlings from his person, and then extricated himself from Greywing’s clutches.  

Bond left the door open for him and continued on to coax his horse out of her pen. By the time he had her saddled and ready, Q was standing beside him, looking up at the large horse with trepidation. “I’ve never ridden a horse,” he confessed quietly.  

Bond couldn’t keep from chuckling warmly at the man who would soar fearlessly through the skies on the back of a dragon, but whose hands started to shake at the prospect of mounting a horse. Bond stepped up into the stirrup and swung his other leg over the horse’s back. Next, he offered a hand to Q. “Then you may want to hold onto me.”

 

 

 


	6. How to Train Your Knight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. So sorry for not updating in a while. I've been very busy this past year, but I never abandon a fic, and I ought to have more time to work on this one going forward. I hope you've stuck with me!

In the days that followed the founding of the Queen’s new Order, knights and dragons both gradually settled into their new home, while Bond settled back into his old one. The stone halls and corridors of Skyfall Keep were still too vast and empty at night, but as often as Bond felt his parents’ absence in his childhood home, he felt their presence as well. Nothing so dramatic as a haunting – just simple memories of interactions he’d had with his mother or father in certain rooms. Memories he hadn’t even known he remembered until he found himself in those rooms again, decades later. It was oddly comforting, remembering that, like any man, he had a past, even if he had spent most of his life trying to forget it.

Midnight rides with the Quartermaster helped settle Bond’s spirits, as reluctant as he was to admit it. Whenever Bond had trouble sleeping, Q, with his preternaturally good hearing, would be woken by Bond shuffling to get dressed in the dark in the next room. Instead of being irritated by it, however, he would always be dressed and standing in the corridor outside Bond’s door, waiting for him with a low-burning flame in hand and a smile in the dark. On those nights, Bond taught Q how to ride a horse. He entrusted Q with a black mare, as strong and graceful as her rider. Together, they would ride through the starry fields for hours, saying little, because little needed to be said when the moors stretched out ahead for miles, and the sky for millennia. Those hours were for quiet companionship, the strong, complimentary heartbeats of beast and rider, and the vastness of the still night. 

Q made quick progress with his horse, since the basics were surprisingly similar to riding a dragon, but he still preferred dragons for reasons that mystified Bond. Q complained that he couldn’t trust a creature he couldn’t communicate with, and Bond replied that communicating with the horse was what riding was all about. Just because they couldn’t converse, that didn’t mean they couldn’t understand each other. But Q would only look at him blankly, equally mystified. Since he had ridden with Q and Greywing, Bond knew that Q communicated with his dragons nonverbally as well as in conversation, but they appeared to share deeper bonds of trust and mutual understanding than even the best horsemasters ever developed with their mounts. 

The old serving families returned over the course of the week, and they helped Kincade make a few modifications to the castle so it better suited the Order’s needs. Shipments of supplies arrived from the capital. Tanner and Q worked together to craft dragon saddles and new weapons, Tanner bringing a lifetime of experience in smithing and leatherwork, and Q a surprising passion for innovative design. Tanner finally realised his dream of forging with dragon fire, and the weapons and armour he created with Greywing’s fire and Q’s careful supervision were indeed much stronger and lighter than anything else Bond had ever handled. At the very least, this venture wouldn't be a total loss for the Order if they got such fine equipment out of it.  

Q insisted that the dragons needed time to adjust to their new environment before they could begin training with the knights, but he had plenty for the Order to do in the meantime. According to him, if they were to have any hope of getting the dragons to accept them as riders (Q used the term ‘partners’, actually, but Bond found that notion rather preposterous), they would need to be paired with a dragon based on compatibility of personalities. Q believed a dragon would be most likely to trust a person who understood the way it thought. Of course, Bond alone knew how much the Quartermaster was improvising in this endeavour. Q’s dragons might heed him because he showed them understanding, but they had accepted him in the first place because they saw him as one of their own kind – because he had dragon’s blood running through his veins. Bond and the other knights had no such advantage, and he knew it would be far more difficult, if not impossible, for them to gain the dragons’ trust.  

Still, Q seemed to be giving the Queen’s proposal honest effort. He conferred with Lord Mallory to gain objective assessments of the knights he was to be working with, and then he summoned each of them to meet with him one-on-one. “You’re up next,” Alec informed him, finding Bond practicing with his new sword out in the northern courtyard. The dragonfire-forged blade took some getting used to – he didn’t need to put as much power behind each stroke as he was accustomed to. Tanner had crafted the silver hilt to resemble a stag’s head, with the antlers comprising the guard. It was a little flashy, even for Bond’s taste, but he couldn’t deny that it handled beautifully. 

“How was it?” Bond asked his friend, sheathing his sword. 

“A little unnerving, if I’m honest,” Alec replied, combing a hand through his russet hair. 

“You, honest?” Bond said, feigning shock. 

Alec chuckled and shook his head. “It’s strange,” he said. “I just couldn’t seem to find it in me to lie to him, and I can lie to anyone, even the Queen. But sitting across a table from him, watching me with those strange eyes of his, I just couldn’t do it. I felt like if I tried, he’d see right through me.”

Bond was well acquainted with that feeling by then. He was somewhat relieved to learn that Q had that effect on others, and not just him. He briefly entertained the idea that inspiring honesty in others might be another of Q’s peculiar powers, but dismissed it almost as soon as it had occurred to him. He knew the truth. He, Alec, and the other knights found conversations with Q unnerving because Q was, when it didn’t come down to potentially dangerous secrets about his past, an honest man, and they encountered very few of those in their line of work. Q was a novelty, in more ways than one. 

“Well, wish me luck,” Bond said, and turned to make his way back into the castle. 

“What for? You’re the luckiest bastard I know,” Alec called after him. 

Bond chuckled. Technically, Alec was the bastard. He was the son of a minor Pelionic noble and a prostitute, unacknowledged and banished from his kingdom at a young age along with his mother. They’d travelled south to Albion and eked out a living, but his mother had died young, as women of her profession often did, leaving Alec to fend for himself in a foreign land. The day after she was buried, Alec left for the capital to join the Royal Army. At fifteen, he was one of the youngest recruits in his year. Five years later, he met Bond, the young viscount who had been whisked away from his family holdings as a child, and who never wanted to go back. Even though Bond was a few years older than Alec, the closest thing to combat experience Bond had had under his belt was hunting deer on his estate when he was young. Alec could have eaten Bond alive and spat him back out again if he’d wanted to, but instead he had taken the young noble under his wing, and kept other soldiers at a wary distance who might have otherwise had their jab at Bond for his soft hands and expensive clothes. Soon, Bond earned his callouses and scars, and the respect of his fellow soldiers in his own right. He looked after Alec in turn by finding opportunities for them to rise through the ranks. By the end of Bond’s first year in the army, they were fast friends, and everything from that point on seemed to follow naturally. When they both set their minds to achieving something, the world seemed to know better than to get in their way. 

Technicalities aside, Bond appreciated Alec's sentiment. Once inside the castle, he followed a familiar path up winding staircases and along narrow corridors to the smaller of the two libraries, where Q had set himself up for the day. The Quartermaster sat at one of the copying desks by the windows, with a chair pulled over from another desk to face across from his. A ream of parchment with a quill and inkwell were laid out in front of him, notes scratched – and the resemblance to scratch marks was really quite astounding – all across the page. “I think you’ve found something even better than coded messages, Q,” Bond remarked as he took the empty chair without prompting. “Illegible handwriting.”

Q looked up from his notes and frowned. “Considering my teacher didn’t have opposable thumbs, I think my handwriting’s excellent,” he replied. 

“The dragon taught you to write?” 

“Most dragons are quite good with languages,” said Q. “Otherwise, I’d still have the vocabulary of a six-year-old.” That was rather troubling, when Bond gave it thought. The creatures were far more intelligent than anyone had given them credit for. It was a wonder they weren’t the dominant species on the continent. “Oh, don’t look so dour. The dragons have kept a lot of knowledge alive that humans believe was lost centuries ago. Knowledge of the Fifth Kingdom, for example.”

That only caused Bond’s frown to deepen further. “The Fifth Kingdom is just a myth.”

Q merely smiled. “Dragons don’t have myths. They do, however, have very long memories.” He leaned back in his chair, breaking eye contact. “But that’s not what we’re here to talk about. I’ve got to match you with a member of the clan.” 

“Of course. Wouldn’t want to distract you from your purpose,” muttered Bond. The comment earned him an arch look from the Quartermaster and a couple of scratches on the parchment. 

“I already have an idea of who to partner you with, but for the sake of being thorough, let’s do what I’ve done with all the others. I’m going to ask you some questions, and it would be in your best interest to answer honestly—” 

“Do you actually know what you’re doing?” Bond asked, as a point of curiosity. 

“Of course not,” Q replied irritably. “But I’m following my best instincts, and they’ve gotten me this far. Now, I already know your personal history with dragons and your opinions about them, so we can skip those questions. Let’s see…” He skimmed over the scratchy little notes on the parchment. “What would you say are your best personal qualities?”

“Are you looking to match me with a dragon, or a date?” 

Q looked unimpressed. “Shall I put down ‘sense of humour’?”

“If you must.” 

“And what else?”

“I’ve been told I’m quite charming.” 

“And evasive,” Q said, scratching more notes. “I’ll get right to the point, then. You’re a knight of the realm. You risk your life for queen and country. Why do you do it?”

“Well, the pay is pretty good.” 

“I doubt a viscount needs the money.” 

“Do you expect to find some noble, righteous impulse at the heart of my actions? Because I’d hate to disappoint.” Bond knew he was being an arse now, but he could never seem to help himself. 

Q stared at him evenly, unflinching. “I’ve learnt to expect nobility from no man, and to be wary of those who profess themselves righteous. I simply want to know what drives you.”

Q’s words sobered Bond considerably. They had both learnt hard lessons when they were far too young. Bond released a quiet breath. “In all honesty, Q, I agreed to join the Order because it meant that the only person I needed to please was the King. I was sick of the web of fealty, favours and falsehoods that the nobility spin amongst themselves. It’s petty and pointless, and yet it easily consumes the heart and mind if you can’t maintain some perspective. So I chose to serve one master over many.” 

To Bond’s surprise, the Quartermaster was smiling by the end of his confession. “That makes perfect sense,” he said, jotting down a few more notes. “What about your worst qualities?” 

“You mean aside from the fact that I kill people?” Bond responded drolly.

“We’re all killers here,” said Q. 

“You don’t seem especially concerned about that,” Bond observed. 

Q shrugged, gesturing to the window, and the wilds beyond. “It’s kill or be killed out there.” 

“That’s just what King Ulrich used to say,” Bond mused.

Q made a face. “Well, he would know. He was largely responsible for making it that way.”

Bond shook his head. “I think Albion’s been this way for a very long time.”

“So, pessimism, then?” Q asked, jotting down another note.

Bond chuckled. “That, destructive impulses, a superiority complex and too much fondness for drink.” He ticked off his fingers as he went through a list he’d memorised long ago. “According to the Queen, at least.” 

“How very insightful of her,” Q mused, scribbling more notes. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m just going to prompt you with a few specific words, and I’d like you to respond with the first word that comes to mind. Ready?” Bond nodded, wary but intrigued. “Sword,” said Q.

“Duty,” Bond replied.

“Queen.”

Bond smirked. “Harsh.”

Q eyed him skeptically. “Was that really the first word that came to mind?”

“No,” said Bond, “but it’s close enough.” 

Q seemed satisfied. He continued. “Home.” 

“Alec,” said Bond, surprising himself with how very little thought he needed to give his response. 

Q smiled again. “Loyalty.”

“Earned.”

“Violence.”

“Necessary.”

“Journey.”

“Freedom.” 

“Companionship.”

“Welcome.”

“Dragon.”

Bond opened his mouth to give his by-now-automatic reply, but quickly shut it again. He huffed an irritated sigh, running a hand through his cropped blonde hair as he said, “I’m sorry, Q. The first word that comes to mind is ‘monster’.”

Q’s expression thinned, but he didn’t look terribly upset. “Your reaction is perfectly understandable. With any luck, the dragon I partner you with will be able to change your mind. Those are all the questions I have for now. Please send Lady Grey to me on your way out.”

Bond stood, but didn’t turn to leave just yet. “May I make a request?”

Q looked up from his notes. “You may.”

“Just don’t partner me with the frost dragon.”

“Of course I’m not going to put you and Permafrost together,” said Q, shaking his head. “I do realise that reliving grievous childhood trauma is not for everyone. Honestly, just because I was raised in the wilds, doesn’t mean I lack common sense. Have a little faith.” 

He smiled at Bond then, and while Bond’s faith in just about everything in this world had been ground down and broken until he wasn’t even sure whether he had any left, in that moment he thought that perhaps there _was_ a little of it left, just enough for this striking stranger who had completely upended Bond’s world in a matter of days. Q didn’t even know that he was asking for everything Bond had, but what concerned Bond more was that he was considering giving it to him.   

With a murmur of gratitude, Bond took his leave.  

~ ◊ ~

Two days later, Lord Mallory summoned all of the knights down to the Great Hall at dawn. The Hall was now bestrewn with the contents of the Bond family treasury, but conspicuously vacant of dragons, save for the hatchlings tumbling together over a pile of jewelry in one corner. When they noticed Bond enter the room, they scampered over to him with excited warbles and screeches. Nox pawed beseechingly at his boot while Lux, more boldly, attempted to climb the side of his leg. Frowning, Bond tried to scooch them away with his foot, but they were quite persistent. Bond shot an exasperated look at his commander, well aware that he was making a distraction of himself amidst his fellow knights, but Mallory only smiled faintly, and offered no assistance. 

“Aw, they like you,” Alec murmured, leaning in beside him. “You know, if you and the Quartermaster got together, you’d be like their second fa— _huff!_ ”  

Bond had elbowed Alec sharply in the side, causing him to double over, breathless. Looking down at his friend, a glimmer caught his eye, and an idea struck. Bond crouched down, scooped a sparkly sapphire necklace up off the ground at Alec’s feet, dangled it enticingly above the hatchlings’ snouts until they followed its motion with a dazzled look in their eyes, and then he hurled it as far away as he could. The hatchlings watched it sail across the hall, then looked up at Bond, then at each other, and finally bolted away after the treasure. Bond released a sigh of relief. 

Mallory spoke as if there had been no interruption. “Today you begin your training with the dragons. The Quartermaster is waiting for you out in the main courtyard. During these training sessions, my role will be one of observation only. If I feel the Quartermaster is demanding more from you than is reasonable, by which I mean if he is endangering your lives more than is necessary when working with these creatures, I will step in. But otherwise, I expect you to follow his orders. This is his area of expertise, not mine. I will be sending reports of our progress to the Queen at the end of each week. She expects our best. Let’s not disappoint her.” 

The knights bowed their heads in acknowledgement, and then followed their commander through the lofty, wooden doors out into the courtyard. Faced with Q’s snarling dragons all lined up and waiting for them, the knights cautiously fanned out, backs to the thick stone wall behind them. Mallory stopped at the end of their line, watching the dragons keenly. Q stood in front of his dragons, Greywing’s impressive silhouette looming behind him. He was dressed once more in his dragon hide leathers, and he looked about as nervous as most of the knights did.  

Q cleared his throat and tried to appear calm. “Normally we’ll hold our training sessions out on the moors. We’re meeting in such close quarters today,” he said, indicating the walls of the courtyard and the tight, semicircular formation of his dragons behind him, “so that none of the dragons will easily be able to fly off with any of you.” 

Beside Bond, Alec chuckled. Q turned to him with an expression of deep dismay. “That wasn’t a joke, Sir Trevelyan. You’re all assuming grave risks in this undertaking. I will do my best to keep you from harm, but I can make no promises. That said, your best chances at coming out of this unscathed lie in following my instructions _precisely_. Even if what I tell you to do doesn’t make sense to you, _do it_ , and ask me about it later. Understood?” 

The knights all inclined their heads in acknowledgement, Alec looking particularly cowed. 

“Good. Good,” Q repeated quietly, to himself. “Alright. Based on reports from your commander, on our individual conversations and on my observations of your sparring styles, I’ve matched each of you with the dragon I think you’ll be most compatible with. Today, each of you will introduce yourself to your new partner, and begin building a bond of mutual trust. If you and your dragon do not trust each other, you won’t be able to accomplish even the most basic tasks. I can only have my back turned to Greywing like this because I trust her. And she’s only here right now, facing nearly a dozen highly trained knights because she trusts me.” His eyes met Bond’s. “Trust is everything.” Just as quickly, his gaze shifted again. “Sir Donne, when you’re ready, please step forward. Your partner will be Salazar, a fire breather.”

When Edward confidently stepped out of line, the lithe, green dragon with a long, whiplike tail and delicate, spiralling horns slunk forward to regard him with curiosity. At the nervous expression that suddenly cinched Edward’s features, Q motioned for the dragon to halt before it drew too close. “Now, Sir Donne, slowly, and making sure that you’re showing everything that you’re doing to Salazar, draw your sword and lay it at his feet. If he accepts your gesture of good faith, he will respond with one in kind.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Edward ground out through clenched teeth, his eyes locked with those of the dragon in front of him.

“Have your shield at the ready,” Q replied. 

“Fantastic,” Edward muttered.  

With extreme caution and exaggerated movements, he began a very gradual approach, startling every time the dragon shifted its weight or expelled a breath through its nostrils. He stopped just out of snapping distance. Raising his right hand for the dragon to see, he slowly brought it down across his body to grip the hilt of his sword at his hip. The dragon’s gaze immediately narrowed in on the blade, and a soft hiss slipped from its jaws. Bond noted that the blonde hair at the back of Edward’s neck was darkened with sweat. As if moving underwater, Edward drew his sword, raised it above his head, and then laid it down in front of the dragon with a good deal more theatrics than were probably necessary. 

As the dragon lowered its head to examine the blade, Edward took a step back. The blade began to glow orange, faint at first and then brighter, and Bond realised why at the same time as Edward did, for Edward’s head jerked up to see fire brewing behind the dragon’s bared teeth, reflected in the blade. Edward scrambled backward in a panic. 

“Your shield!” Q called, and Edward wrenched the shield from his back and ducked behind it. 

After a tense moment in which fiery death did not come, Edward peered over the top of his shield. The dragon blew a puff of smoke in his face and bared its teeth in what could only be described as a grin. Edward looked deathly pale, as though he might faint at any second. 

Q marched over to Salazar, visibly fuming. “That wasn’t funny. This isn’t the time for games,” he chided. Salazar regarded the Quartermaster quizzically, and then flicked out a long, forked tongue in another surprisingly human expression. Q responded with an uncannily draconic growl. 

“Games?” Edward echoed, his voice thin and wavering as he uncurled himself from his crouch.  

After shooting Salazar another dirty look, Q turned to Edward apologetically. “Salazar was just playing with you. He did not intend to harm.”

“Oh,” said Edward. Steeling himself, he locked eyes with the dragon and walked toward it, arm outstretched. He glanced at Q to confirm that he was doing the right thing. Q nodded, pleased that the knight had observed and mimicked his own technique. Edward’s hand shook, but the rest of him did not. He was a royal knight, after all. They had all advanced upon death, at one time or another. 

When Edward was within arm’s reach, Salazar bowed his head and rested his muzzle within the curve of Edward’s fingers, puffing out thin wisps of smoke. “Everyone, take note of this,” Q said, as Edward began to gently stroke the underside of the dragon’s jaw, looking entranced at the contact. “You must all allow your dragons to learn your scent. It will put them at greater ease around you, even when they can’t see you.” 

After a few moments, Salazar dipped his head and took up Edward’s sword in his teeth. He held it out to the knight, who accepted it in both hands with a deep bow. With another glance at the Quartermaster, Edward sheathed his sword and retreated to stand back in line with the rest of the Order. “Well done, Sir Donne,” Q praised. He hadn’t the tact to conceal the surprise in his voice. “Lord Mallory may have something to put in his reports, after all.”

Next, Sir Abeline was paired with Echo, the small, black dragon whose roar, according to the Quartermaster, functioned as a sort of echolocation, and was even powerful enough to produce a sonic boom, flattening whatever lay before her. Dorian and the dragon seemed to read each other in silence as they went through the same ritual of trust that Edward and Salazar had. Echo did not seem inclined to play games. She was efficient, if wary, not seeming to give her full trust to Dorian even after the ritual was completed. It was fitting, since Dorian didn’t seem to trust her, either. Dorian likely didn't trust anyone fully, not even the other knights of the Order. But he and Echo seemed to develop a mutual respect for each other, at least.

Sir Mason was paired with Permafrost, the ice-breather, and their fierce brutality suited one another. Permafrost challenged Jack, advancing on him with a growl, and a jet of frost encased Jack’s blade in ice. Jack snarled and shattered the ice by bringing the sword down over his knee. He then drove it into the ground and stepped back, arms crossed, waiting for Permafrost to make the next move. The frost dragon took the blade between his teeth, frost racing across the metal once more, and snapped the sword in two with a powerful bite. He gave it back to Jack in pieces. According to the Quartermaster, this still counted as success. 

Lady Papava was partnered with Belloc, and Q urged extra caution this time, since Belloc’s spines, claws, fangs and tail all carried a venom that was lethal if enough of it were to get into the bloodstream. Bond realised that the envenomed dragon fang Q kept strapped to his thigh was likely one of Belloc’s. If the venom weren’t enough, the dragon’s saliva was also highly acidic, and would melt through just about anything he spit it at. Scarlett had always had a way with vicious creatures, however, and she and the dragon seemed to come to an understanding rather quickly.  

Sir Thomas was paired up with Nocturne, and cold-hearted logician though he was, even he trembled in the presence of the fearsome beast. Nocturne’s species breathed a toxic black smoke, which could envelop another creature and snuff its life out in seconds. There was no dodging it, no shielding against it. The best a man could do was hold his breath. Stuart’s exchange with Nocturne was a delicate balance of wills until the very end.  

It was Alec’s turn after that. “You’ll be with Firequill,” said Q, indicating the bird-like, feathered dragon. “He spits white-hot sparks, so have your shield ready.” 

“He looks like an oversized chicken,” Edward remarked airily. 

Firequill’s head whipped toward the arrogant knight with an avian screech, but before the dragon could attack, Alec had knocked Edward’s feet out from under him with a swift kick, landing Edward on his arse, blinking in surprise. Firequill seemed to switch from anger to amusement almost instantaneously, and he turned to Alec with a chortle, nuzzling his beaked snout into a surprised Alec’s hands. Recovering quickly from his shock, Alec grinned and ruffled the feathers around the dragon’s ears. “Don’t listen to that ugly sod. You’re absolutely gorgeous,” he crooned. Firequill gave a pleased warble and nuzzled closer. Edward glared murderously at Alec as he got to his feet, armour clanking awkwardly. 

“Well, that’s…another way to do it, I suppose,” Q said, watching the pair bemusedly. When they separated, he turned his gaze to Bond. “James,” he said softly. “I’ve partnered you with Stormclaw.” 

Bond returned the Quartermaster’s gaze cooly, but said nothing. He couldn’t see how this was possibly going to work, but if Q wanted to see him knocked flat on his back again, gasping for air as he waited for the fire to extinguish itself in his veins, then so be it. He stepped forward.

“Wait,” said Q, and Bond halted. “Tanner and I can probably redesign your armour so it channels Stormclaw’s electricity safely around your body, but the current design will most likely superheat and burn you severely if she discharges. You should remove it before you approach her.”  

_“Again?”_ Bond muttered under his breath as he stepped back and set to work on the fastenings of the many interlocking metal plates. 

“I’ll help you, my dear friend,” Alec said, eyes glittering with mirth. He stepped behind Bond and began tackling the buckles of the breastplate, which arced over Bond’s shoulders. As he did so, he leaned in to murmur in Bond’s ear, _“Do you suppose the young thing just enjoys watching you strip?”_

Q’s cheeks pinked and he quickly averted his gaze. Alec, with his attention focused on Bond, didn’t notice. Of course, he didn’t know that Q’s hearing was inhumanly acute, along with the rest of his senses. Bond had never wished with greater fervour that his friend would keep his mouth shut once in awhile.  

When he was down to his doublet and leathers, Bond stepped forward once again. Q had told him to keep his steel gauntlets on, “just in case.” Bond really ought to have questioned what he meant by that. Stormclaw watched him with her fierce, electric gaze as he approached, and Bond could feel the prickling charge in the air growing stronger the closer he got. It made the short hairs stand up on the back of his neck—or perhaps that was simple fear.  

Only when he was close enough for the dragon to reach out and claw open his chest cavity did he notice a starburst discolouration of the hide beneath her left wing. It was an old scar, and Bond knew with a gut-twisting certainty what had made it. He remembered standing atop a high turret as sheets of rain sliced into him like ice, a monstrous thunderstorm raging above. He remembered squinting through the water drowning his vision, hauling the heavy ballista around to take aim at the dark shadow darting across the sky… 

He wondered now if Stormclaw knew he was the one who had loosed the bolt that had felled her. Looking into her enigmatic gaze gave him no answer. She merely watched him as he slowly drew his sword, as if waiting for him to make one wrong move. Once he’d fully unsheathed the blade, without warning, Stormclaw opened her mouth and shot a powerful, white-blue jet of lightning straight at him. With no time to dodge, Bond dropped to one knee and thrust his sword out in front of him, aiming it high above his head. The blade drew the electricity like a lightning rod, and shot it straight up into the sky, where it vanished into the clouds with a loud crack of thunder. The gauntlet on Bond’s right hand was uncomfortably hot, but the leather glove he wore beneath it had insulated his hand enough so that it hadn’t been burned. 

Bond stared at the dragon with wide eyes, his breath coming hard and ragged. He hadn’t had the faintest idea of whether that was actually going to work. He had moved purely on instinct, knowing that if he did nothing, the blast would kill him. Stormclaw regarded him in silence for a suspended moment, along with everyone else in the courtyard, human and dragon alike. She finally seemed to come to a decision, leaning down and extending her neck to bring her snout to Bond’s hand. Stroking the beast that had just tried to kill him was the last thing Bond wanted to do in that moment, but he forced himself to unclench the hand that wasn’t holding his sword, and rest it against the dragon’s muzzle. Her hot breath slid through the plates of his gauntlet and he grit his teeth, feeling like a sailor in the eye of a great, black tempest. 

Finally, Stormclaw withdrew, and everyone in the courtyard let out a breath they had collectively been holding. “Well done,” said Q, in a higher octave than his usual registre. Bond shot him a look that clearly said, _You owe me a great deal for that_. He stepped back to rejoin his comrades. 

Alec was watching him with awe. _“That was fucking fantastic, James,”_ he whispered. Bond merely grimaced in lieu of a reply. It hadn’t felt fantastic from where he’d been standing. It felt like he’d only narrowly dodged his death. He wondered, if that wasn’t enough for the Quartermaster to realise his mistake in partnering Bond with Stormclaw, what would be? 

He didn’t spare much attention for the following ritual between Lady Grey and Empyrean, the enormous, tiger-striped fire-breather. She was calm and collected, as was the dragon. Both carried themselves with an air of nobility, both too proper to make much of a fuss of the whole affair. Sir Janner, on the other hand, had never been graced with that sort of decorum. He was matched with Earthshaker, a dragon that could breathe a noxious, flammable gas and ignite it with a spark, causing an explosion powerful enough to blast through rock, without fear of harming itself thanks to its thick, heavy scales. When it came time for Humphrey to greet the dragon, he thrust his sword toward it too sharply, and Earthshaker knocked it out of the old knight’s hands with his heavy, clubbed tail. Humphrey bared his teeth in frustration, but stooped to pick up the battered blade and re-offer it more slowly. Earthshaker huffed and nudged the sword back to Humphrey with his snout, grudgingly sniffing at Humphrey’s open palm in the process. Bond almost felt sorry for the creature.

When the deadly introductions had all been made, Q congratulated them all heartily. “That went much better than I expected, to be quite honest,” he said. “I had thought I would need to send at least one or two of you back to the keep for medical treatment by the time we were through here. Since we’re off to such a good start, let’s continue.” Some of Bond’s comrades – Alec, Edward, Jack and Scarlett, for the most part – seemed eager at the prospect of continuing to train with the dragons. Q’s words inspired most of the rest of the Order to look vaguely ill.  

“I want you to spend the next few hours with your dragon out on the moors, getting used to each other. You won’t be able to understand their speech, but they can understand yours. I want you to work out a way of communicating with them. They aren’t your servants.” A pointed look at Bond. “You can’t just tell them what to do. They're your partners. You need to come to a mutual understanding. I’ll be watching with Greywing in case any of you need assistance. Feel free to come to me for advice at any time.” 

“You’re just going to leave us alone with these beasts?” Humphrey bellowed.  

Q looked unimpressed with his outburst. Bond appreciated Q's isolated upbringing a little more in that moment. The young man had absolutely no respect for Janner’s seniority. “I said I’d be watching you.” 

“And you can stop the dragons from harming us? Or from flying off with us, like you said earlier?” Humphrey pressed. “I hardly see how a boy who probably weighs eight stone soaking wet—“

Mallory was about to reprimand Janner for speaking that way to his superior, when the Quartermaster cut him off. “I can _probably_ keep Earthshaker from smashing your bones to bits, but you’ll recall I made no promises regarding your personal safety. My only promise is that I will step in if you are in danger. But I will not tolerate antagonism toward the dragons. Should that occur, your greatest concern ought to be the possibility that I will choose  _not_  to step in. As for your dragon flying off with you, it’s unlikely, but Greywing and I can always come after you. Anyway, that’s the ultimate point of these exercises, isn’t it? You’re all here to become dragon riders. I suggest you get used to the idea.”

Humphrey gaped stupidly at the Quartermaster for a moment before turning to Mallory with a desperate look, pleading with the commander to speak some sense amidst this madness. Mallory merely offered a slight smile, and said, “You heard your Quartermaster.” 

Unable to defy both Commander and Quartermaster, Humphrey fell mutely back in line, looking rattled. Bond was suddenly a little more determined to see this thing through. As he walked beside Stormclaw, following the other knights and dragons out onto the moors, he asked the dragon conversationally, “Are you going to try to shock me again if I get too close?”  

He felt silly talking to a dragon like he would another person, but Q had assured him many times that the creatures could understand humans perfectly, and he had seen more than enough evidence to suggest that that was true. Stormclaw swung her head around to face him with a look in her eyes that resembled one Bond himself had worn many times before: _Try me_.   

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some theories suggest a full suit of armor could act as a Faraday Cage, conducting electricity safely around the person inside. However, since normal armor doesn't have clear pathways for the electricity to travel along, it would probably overheat at best, or some of the current would still pass through the person wearing it at worst. This might give you some ideas as to what Q's modifications will be :)
> 
> Please don't test out the science by standing out in a lighting storm in a full suit of armor. It will still attract the lightning, and it will not be good.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you're enjoying my writing, you can commission a story from me here: http://urban-sorcerer.tumblr.com/commissions


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